


When the Summer Ends

by lavenderfields



Category: Original Work
Genre: 1950s, Asperger Syndrome, F/F, Gay, Gay Male Character, Gen, Greasers, Lesbian, Lesbian Character, Multi, Period-Typical Homophobia, Period-Typical Racism, Period-Typical Sexism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-16
Updated: 2016-06-16
Packaged: 2018-07-15 11:29:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 23,005
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7220548
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lavenderfields/pseuds/lavenderfields
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A tale of love and friendship set in the 1950s, When the Summer Ends tackles society’s views of the times.</p><p>Aika Rowland is a young lady affected by Aspergers, and struggling to live her life; her famous family has its own problems and often she is overlooked, finding it hard to fit in with her outlandish clothes and strange mannerisms. That is, until she meets rough, tough Greaser girl, Cherry Knox, the girl who shows her what love is really about.</p><p>Sample chapters 1-5.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> When the Summer Ends is available in full on Amazon and Lulu in paperback and eBook form. 
> 
> https://www.amazon.co.uk/When-Summer-Ends-Ellie-Morris-ebook/dp/B01AGSEURE/ref=tmm_kin_swatch_0?_encoding=UTF8&qid=&sr=
> 
> http://www.lulu.com/shop/ellie-morris/when-the-summer-ends/paperback/product-22668376.html
> 
> http://elliemorrisbooks.com/

Aika

July 1958

My Father’s music blared out from the cruise ship like an orchestra full of devils hell-bent on deafening me. Weeping next to me was Pierre — fiery mop-headed, Mummy’s boy — and opposite, brooding over an Oscar Wilde novel, was the villain of our family, Buddy. Not so far away Father was pretending not to hear the raucous squeals of saxophones, and seated next to him was my dear Cissy, holding his hand and telling him it was all going to be okay. We were running away from Mother.   
Despite feeling disorientated about our sudden departure for the States, I suppose it could be said that I’m somewhat pleased. Now that I no longer live in Europe with my oddly cold-blooded Mother, I have much more freedom than I would have ever had back in France.   
My mother is French, and my father American, you see. The way they met was rather unusual, but I speculate that it was arranged. They were never really in love. Some may find that weird; yet many believe their marriage was fixed and carefully manipulated by the press. Call me a conspiracy-freak, but don’t you find all celebrity romances to be a fix, completely, utterly made and broken by gossipy columnists and women’s weekly magazines? I know for a fact that my dad, Mr Donald Rowland, and my mother (whom I refuse to call anything but a nice and formal “mother”) Ms Celeste Fleuri, married based on what they thought the press would admire most of all. They had met not long before World War II, in 1939 when my father was a soldier supposedly going to fight in France, to protect them from Germany’s control. Seeing as he was already famous, my mother knew him rather well and was a fan of his swing music — he was, in return, enraptured by her sultry looks and supreme wealth. They might have fancied each other a little at first, especially seeing as my poor father had been segregated from women for so long during the war years, but there was no way they’d have united without a little encouragement from those slithering paparazzi pests.   
My father is quite the talented pianist — he is well known for his exuberant music all over America and the majority of Europe. Mother is a fashion model who modelled for famous post-war French style and beauty magazines. Father, being the one to wander around aimlessly and travel in his free time like a typical man about town, found Fleuri to be quite attractive. Yes, the press magazines thought, yes! How romantic it would be for a musician and a model from two different countries to get together in an affair! Or, at least that’s how I pictured the events before my birth.  
Mother already belonged to a man at that point, you see. His name was something along the lines of Des-Jardin or whatever. I’ve never particularly cared for him, nor has any right-thinking person… Des-Jardin used to beat my mother terribly, to the point that she was constantly fearful of losing her job as a spokes-woman of Parisian refinement. Bruised, tearful and heart broken, my birth mother went crying to father for help; she was a fan of his upbeat music (claiming later that it saved her, persuading her to carry on), and he in return was a great admirer of her dainty profile and voluptuous curves, purchasing all the magazines and tabloids she was featured in regardless of being ignorant of the language they were printed in. Many of those terrible magazines featured the two together out for dinner in Paris as a romantic date; my mother being portrayed as completely in love with Rowland in an illicit affair. This pushed tempers between Fleuri and Des-Jardin to the limit, resulting in the explosive catalyst that thankfully took place nowhere near a china shop.   
Truth be told, they were never anything but friends in platonic admiration, pressured into a marriage by adoring fans of drama and pushy journalists with a feeble portion of romantic fluff between the ears and nothing more. To this day, I really can’t say they’re friends at all, let alone lovers or husband and wife… They hate each other ferociously nowadays. The pressure was just too much and they ended up in court for a divorce twelve years after I was born. But even before that their relationship was serpentine at best. Put them in a room together and they’ll start screaming their heads off at one another, like banshees from across a swamp, yet twice as loud.  
Despite living with both dad and mother for the first twelve years of my life, I couldn’t even shed a tear when they were separated. Being at a young-ish age, I was still mature enough to realise it was for the best; I had no intentions of getting them to realise that there was still tender passion beneath their wrath, or attempting to prolong the agonising divorce in order to change our futures that hung in the balance. Indeed, they were unhappy enough for me to know it, both believing that I didn’t overhear their deadly hisses and expletives in the small hours of the morning.   
Don’t you often hear of those children who are made to choose between mother and father, and how they are dragged from the court screaming something awful with the tears streaming down their faces and the snot dribbling from out their nose… Well, I was nothing like that.  
Born third in Boulogne-sur-mer — the sea-side town of France — on the 26th May, 1945, I managed to survive over a decade in a loveless family. I was named “Aika” for a really strange reason - World War II had created a feud between Japan and America, yet my father was quite set on giving me a Japanese first-name. He had said to my mother it was “edgy” and “new”, whereas I just thought it was plain dangerous and stupid. Why not give me a name people can pronounce? In the back of my mind there is a nagging feeling that perhaps even the press chose my name — funny how strangers can mold and shape your life without you even knowing it — that would account for the excitement in the tabloids when I was born and named.  
Two more babies were born before me. First came Buddy, my eldest brother. Now he is nineteen, a grown-up boy, I hardly even see him. Especially since we moved to Vermont, USA. Mother and father were thrilled when he was born. And hey, so was the press! He was such a beautiful baby. All babies are sweet and lovely, but he was really something special. Even mother warmed to him. Come 1958, nobody but Pierre and I will speak to him — he was disowned, and I still do not know the reason why today. Nobody will explain it to me — they say I’m too young to understand.   
Secondly, Pierre was born with a mop of fiery red hair. Nobody knew how he came to be a ginger and they all dismissed it as a rather funny in-joke. Father would ask her jokingly if it was something to do with the milkman, but I have no idea what Monsieur Bardot had to do with Pierre having ginger hair…   
As he was the second baby, the magic was gone. Fleuri didn’t particularly care for her second born son and daddy was hardly ever there for us with his career taking over his life. Maybe that’s not so peculiar as I first thought; the tabloids say that labour and early motherhood can cause all sorts of complications and difficulties… I still adore the boy, however.   
Then came me. By then, nobody hardly even spoke to one another and it was a good thing we were rather wealthy; if it weren’t for our maid, Cissy, I could have possibly starved to death and nobody would have even known! Many children can’t remember their diaper days, yet I can picture it all like a reel at the playhouse. Cissy was my father’s maid back in America. She’d raised and loved him as her own child despite being of different colours, and my father had wanted her for his own children, rightfully claiming her to be a marvel and a paragon. I loved Cissy. I adored her. Besides my two elder brothers, Cissy Jackson was one of the few people I learnt to love early on. Everybody else felt like another brick in an endless wall.   
For about twelve years the six of us all lived together under one roof. We liked to travel, so sometimes we may reside in the French countryside, or even in Britain if we fancied a break. Oddly, we had never strayed out of Europe. At the time I was born, there was a lot of tensions between nations. If I were to tell the complete, honest truth, I can say that I was never really happy in any of these places; there was coldness beneath every roof.   
Not long after my thirteenth birthday, father figured he’d had enough of mother; “there was just no spark” anymore, apparently. There had never been a spark. Not even just a tiny shadow of one. He asked me, ‘Aika, I’m sorry to ask you such a difficult question, but what’s it to be: your mother, or myself? We cannot go on living together in these conditions. I don’t think we love each other any more… and it’s not fair for anybody that way.’   
Biting back my bitter response of ‘Well, you never loved each other, but that’s okay. I understand,’ I instead feigned some adequate amount of sadness and replied, ‘I wish to live with you. I would miss you too dearly, but I still love and miss mum.’ Those words seemed fitting at the time, even if they were lifted from a story book I read years ago.   
He had burst into shameful tears right in front of me and explained that we were to move to America. In class, we’d all heard plenty about America - apparently it was one of the biggest and most influential countries in the whole world. Dad had lived there as a child and was an all-American kid all right. Ever since he left to “liberate” (or plague) France during the war, he had always wanted to go back America — New England in particular. He packed our bags right away and left mother stranded with a country mansion all to herself: no family, no servant.   
I have to admit, seeing my mother so pathetically useless and lonely, the blond Marylin Monroe carbon copy hair-do all greasy and rumpled, her blue eyes a nasty looking turquoise with all the tears she’d shed - it wasn’t a pleasant emotion I’d felt when waving goodbye. It had felt although I had betrayed her somehow by promising to live with dad instead. Still, I remembered how much she made me feel like a disappointment and smiled somewhat smugly as I boarded the ship. Buddy, Pierre and I boarded together on the vessel and played card games for the first few hours to distract ourselves from feeling too guilty.   
Pierre had burst into tears within minutes. He was only fifteen then… But still, that was only a few months ago - May the 29th to be exact. He’s sixteen now, and still hasn’t stopped being a cry baby, not that I can fault him for it.   
Buddy is much different. He’s nineteen years old and had grown up almost instantly the moment we set foot onto the American soil. It’s like he’d been hardened by the painful fact of how different we all are.  
Dad sat a few seats away from Cissy for the first few hours, not even bothering to unpack his things for the week-long voyage, fiddling his thumbs and staring into space for a very long stretch of time. I believe he was depressed, perhaps wondering if he had done the right thing by leaving mother. Being the kind of girl to not stand for seeing somebody so dismal and lost, I went and sat between the two, grabbing my father’s hand warily in between my own as I said; ‘I think you’ve done the right thing.’   
I let out a smile, and he smiled back. That was enough for me. If dad was happy, so was I. Can’t have him moping around for the rest of his days now, can we?   
A couple of weeks later we arrived in Maine’s port. I’ve never so much as glanced in a text book about New England (most of the America segments were centred around California or Washington) but I could tell right away that it was beautiful. Just smelling the sea salt in the air had been refreshing, making me think of new starts and happiness. The blue sky without a single cloud promised warmth, and the comforting arm around my waist from Cissy backed up that exact promise. America was the place to be.


	2. Chapter 2

Aika

July 1958

After having a short break in Maine — Cissy had prepared a picnic before we departed the ship — we bought a new car and travelled to Vermont. That had taken a long time, and I had felt Buddy and Pierre squirm with discomfort either side of me for hours and hours. Yet Vermont still offered the same palate of promises that Maine had given me a taste for, and thus I happily leapt at the chance.   
Back in early July, as the car winded up and down the hills and dirt paths that we weren’t entirely certain were official roads, and weaved it’s way down a few motorways, we arrived some hours later to our new home. Words could not possibly begin to explain how excited I felt at that moment.   
Our home was like something out of a fairy tale! Cloaked in fresh green woodland, our house is painted stark white in contrast. Being in New England, the house is naturally rather large and is made out of lots of different horizontal panels of wood. As you step onto the front porch, you can strongly smell the pine trees and watch the birds play in the garden from the comfort of a rocking chair. This is the largest, grandest house I have ever lived in. There are seven bedrooms, three bathrooms, one downstairs toilet, two parlours, one large kitchen and a massive dining room. In the basement is where Cissy washes the clothes, and the attic is where she sleeps all night long. I feel bad that she has to tolerate the attic whilst we have many bedrooms spare, but dad says it would be improper to offer the spare bedroom to a servant.   
Anyway, I love our new home. Whilst I was sat on a deckchair in our garden, I began counting the windows: 18 in total, possibly more as I grew bored of it after a while. Our garden is lush with lots of flowers. I won’t even bother counting them as I’d be there all week! Pansies, roses, violets, sunflowers, dahlias, and these little fluffy purple, pink and white flowers grow all over for acres and acres. As we have no neighbours currently, we lay claim to as much land as we please. It’s quite pleasant to sit in the shade of a tree with a comic book and listen to the wildlife, iced tea in one hand, a lace fan in the other.   
I’ve been spending the past few weeks trying to get better at English. Having parents of two nationalities, I’m supposedly bi-lingual, but still, it never hurts to brush up on what you do know. As I lived in France all my life (and brief get-aways to Britain, never really speaking to anybody as I’m shy) I never had the chance to speak English unless I really had to. Pierre says my English is good, but I think he’s just trying to be sweet to me, the dear.   
I don’t know about the rest of my family (and I include Cissy in that statement) but I’m having the time of my life so far in Jubilee, Vermont. However, I can’t help but have a sinking feeling in my tummy as the days fly past faster and faster; school has to start sometime. At the moment, it’s still that time when American kids are on their summer vacation, but come September I have to start middle school along with the rest of them… Best not think about it now. I’ll just end up crying otherwise… My tummy finds itself in knots. 

Presently it is the 2nd July and I am sat with both my arms and legs crossed on my bed, thinking about all the complicated things that have happened within the past two months. Why can’t life ever be simple — I ask you? [Taking inspiration from P.G. Wodehouse's character, Bertie Wooster, who exclaims such words when he is annoyed.]  
Thinking back to the endless fields of lavender along with those beautiful, Rococo-era chateaus, I suppose I miss France, along with my mother. We were always at odds, but she’s my mother - I can’t always be bitter about her couldn’t-care-less attitude, can I now? Humans always want what they can’t have. That is true - I long to go back to France just to see that breath-taking countryside.   
Biting a hang nail as I mused over what to say, what to do about my current doubts, I flinched slightly as I heard my bedroom door creak open slightly. That could only be one person - Cissy. I always know it is her as she has a special way of opening my door. Instead of just barging in like everybody else, she tiptoes around, quiet as a mouse and as stealthy as a fox. The way she creeps about has made me jump a great number of times. You can hardly even hear her come in, you just feel her presence and the soft noises of her breathing.   
‘Aika, I’ve finished making breakfast, but I haven’t got your Sunday best yet. I’m sorry,’ Cissy started, hanging onto the door handle as if it was something that would protect her, ‘Hope you don’t mind going down to the table in your nightgown…’   
Cissy Jackson was short and plump with smooth and pure-complexioned dark brown skin. At first, when Dad had introduced us when I was three years old, I couldn’t help but stare at the colour of her skin. Being young and ignorant I had never seen a black person before, or a ‘Negro’ as my father puts it. These days, I can’t help but admire how beautiful she looks. She’s rather old — in her fifties at least — (I’ve never asked her how old she was before) but I still can’t help but admire how fresh and sprightly she seems, especially when she offers me that lovely, maternal smile each and every day. On one cheek is a pale pink rupture going down from her barely-visible cheekbone to curving around her chin and neck. She won’t ever tell me how she came to get the scar, but I know it can’t be anything good, like a raging battle to the death with a dragon, for example. Her hair is a gorgeous shade of ebony and sits just above her shoulders in soft, tight waves and ringlets. She has big, brown and deeply cordial eyes.   
‘That’s okay, Cissy,’ I turned towards the door and beamed[Always has a smile for Cissy, who is her maternal figure.], still curled up on my bedsheets. ‘I don’t mind at all.’   
I could visibly see my maid relax, her shoulders slumping slightly. I know she is certain I won’t hurt her (never, ever) but I can also tell she’s so afraid of disappointing me[Cissy still has a fear of being hurt by an employer, even a young girl, due to a traumatic incident in her past.].   
‘Ah, that’s a relief! I know how much you love that dress of yours, Ms Aika. Goodness, you wear it every weekend!’ She laughed, all care-free and came over to help me fix my hair, which she brushes every morning and every evening. If you had hair as long and un-manageable as mine, you’d need help brushing it too.   
‘Your hair is getting so long! You trying to be that Rapunzel?’   
I giggled in good-nature and tried to keep still despite how much it hurts when she attacks the tangles with my brush. This must be the only instance where she’s brusque, but I suppose if she knew she’d stop.   
‘We’ve gotta make your hair nice if we’re gonna go downstairs in that ol’ nightgown of yours. Hope master Rowland won’t mind you being under-dressed. He’s very particular that father o’ yours, if you’ll excuse me for saying it[Cissy knows she can speak almost freely with Aika, as she is not judgemental and can be laid back. They are more like friends or family than employer and employee.]. It’s not like we’ve got folks round, though.’   
When she was done, I stood from my bed and padded downstairs to greet my family with a small “good morning”. Father, Buddy and Pierre were already seated in the far too-large dining room, knives and forks shamelessly poised in their hands. Cissy’s cooking is always the best by far, so in a way I couldn’t blame them for their lack of decorum; all of our stomaches are well accustomed to her ambrosial delicacies.   
Today, we were having waffles with honey drizzled elegantly over the top. Mine was typically shaped like a heart as Cissy knows how much I adore cute things. Some days I would partake of pancakes in the shape of my favourite cartoon bear’s head, with the face carefully crafted with chocolate sauce, and on others, I would take great delight in nibbling on those lovely pieces of French toast, cut to look exactly like hearts or flowers. Buddy always says it’s a waste of good food to keep slicing off parts, just to make his “frivolous little sister” happy each morning, but I think it looks great! Far more charming than their plain old waffles!   
‘Morning,’ they all chorused at once, each taking on a slightly different tone; Buddy sounded like he’d much rather be in bed, Pierre was chipper and father had the tone of voice which clearly said, ‘Why are you still in your bedclothes? It’s 10 in the morning.’ Ignoring that my dad was annoyed, I took my seat at the long dining room table, legs swinging happily under the table. Today was just too good a morning to get all upset over nothing. I had felt worried after waking up when I had time to think to myself, but it’s best just to forget about school for now. We’ve still got just over two weeks before I have to start.   
I had my back to the window which looked out into the back garden. It was only ten in the morning, but it was already so warm and I could feel the sunlight flood down upon me, telling me it was going to be an intensely hot day. Jubilee had really hot weather in summer and apparently, in winter Vermont gets lots and lots of snow! Dad told me that sometimes school would shut down as they might get snowed in during a blizzard. How exciting!  
‘Cissy, you make the best waffles!’ I grinned, for once showing all my teeth in my smile.   
On the table was an equally as large table cloth in white lace. On top of that was a spotty blue jug containing some citron-yellow and fluffy white flowers from the garden. I kept my eyes trained on those flowers, immediately sensing an uncomfortable aura flood the room.   
‘You’re so kind, Ms Aika[Calls her Ms Aika in front of father, but she can also be affectionate and refer to her as "darling" when they're alone.]. Nah, my waffles are alright, I love to cook and I’m real happy you enjoy them,’ Cissy replied, still hovering awkwardly around the doorway.   
I wish she’d just sit down or leave us to eat - she’s making me feel uncomfortable the way she looks so fearful herself… Back in France she was just as stuffy and hesitant as she is now, around mealtimes, mainly due to Mother, who was determined to keep Cissy from slipping in to become one of the family. Apparently it is not proper to allow a well-loved servant to sit with us and rest a while… Being an epitome of a chef, she should have had the seat of honour in my opinion.   
In New England, her home town at that, I would have thought she’d have made herself comfortable and settle in for the longterm — but even now she addresses me as “Ms Aika” and my dad as “sir”. However, when we’re out of earshot of Father, she calls me “darling”.  
‘You’re welcome - and you know you’re great! You’re just too modest to admit it.’   
Daddy cleared his throat, signalling that this conversation between Cissy and myself was over. Never mind… We’ll continue it later when he’s not around… Cissy flushed and scrambled from the room, her pink and pressed uniform flying out behind her in her haste. I hate to see her feel so intimidated by us. I wish there was something we could do…   
‘You didn’t have to be so rude, Dad. We were talking, that’s all.’   
‘I’m sorry, young lady, but Cissy is a maid and we have to treat her as one. She’s not the mother you consider her as. End of story.’   
It seems to me that whenever I want to talk to my dad, he always finishes with a stern and formal, ‘End of story’[He's tense after the divorce.]. I don’t know whether to feel aggravated or afraid. He’s hardly even about, anyways. Yet when he is, he’s always the one dictating our every move. Why is everybody in this family so cold? I often find myself wondering.  
Surprisingly, Dad’s face softened somewhat. The lines in his face relaxed a little and his brown eyes widened as if mildly taken aback. He must have noticed my upset. ‘I’m sorry, darling, it’s just the way I was raised as a boy. It’s a good thing I’m more relaxed than my old man used to be about the servants. He used to beat me when he found I’d been talking with the Negro boys.’   
I didn’t quite know what to say, so I simply kept my head down and said nothing in return. I was happy daddy admitted he was wrong for snapping at me, but at the same time I wish things could be different. Ever since we moved to Jubilee, it feels as though he’s perturbed no matter what I do.   
‘I’m going to go to my room to read; thank you for breakfast,’ I muttered, head bowed as I escaped from the long, narrow dining room. My food was hardly touched despite being so delicious. I felt bad for Cissy who had spent her time making them for me to only nibble on the edges.   
Whenever I feel down, I go to sit cross-legged on my bedroom floor facing my wardrobe. A piece of furniture bought when we left France, it stands with its back to my pastel pink wall opposite the windows; painted in a worn and weathered fashion in teal and cream, it makes my room look almost like something you’d see in a fashion magazine. Collecting fascinating and elegant clothes is my hobby. My elder brothers sometimes laugh and tease at my fashions, telling me I look “too much like an antique dolly”, but similar to the waffles, I don’t care what they think - I love historical fashion. Simple as that.   
Few people wear it everyday, and instead opt to wear Victorian, Edwardian and Rococo garments for an educational purpose, but when you pull it off, it looks simply breathtaking. If it were down to me, I’d wear historical fashion each and every day until the day I die. Even when I grow old and wrinkly, I shall still remain dainty and feminine in my lace, frills, petticoats and corsets. They should bury me in my favourite dress, or else I’ll be turning in my grave until the Armageddon!  
My wardrobe contains nothing but rows and draws filled to the brim with period clothing; this makes me so, so happy. When I need a boost, I go to my wardrobe to feel normalised again. It’s like a kind of clothes magic if you understand me. Hanging on the rail to the left is where I keep my petticoats and hoop skirts to breathe. Layered petticoats are a necessity, even for trips to the grocery store and going to school. I suppose it’s not unusual to wear frilly skirts at all - nowadays, all the magazines are filled with skirt-wearing women, so in that aspect, I’m being fashion-conscious.   
Breathtaking — sometimes quite literally — corsets are very important to get the right silhouette for the period you are trying to emulate; I own about five corsets, ranging from the 18th Century to the late 19th Century. I squeeze myself into them every day, with a little help from Cissy lacing up the back, to the point where my posture is continuously perfectly upright.   
Next to the undergarments hang my dresses. I have many dresses I adore and no trousers or shorts to call my own; wrinkling my nose, I reassure myself that trousers and shorts are boys clothes and not to be touched[Feminine and different from Cherry. These are stereotypical thoughts in the 1950s, plus her own preferences.] let alone purchased! Browsing through all my dresses fills me with a certain kind of pride only an avid collector would feel, each dress being special and unique to me. I had had each piece custom made to my measurements by a specialist tailor in France, and a few, simpler pieces were hand-sewn by Cissy, who was magical with a needle and thread, but lacking in the trimmings department that the 18th Century is famous for.   
After all, I’m addicted to vintage lace. You name it; Venice, chantilly, broderie anglaise, cotton, chemical… It will be there, on one of them at least!   
Due to this fact my favourite kind of dresses are pastel-coloured, delicate and Georgian-styled, made of silk, satin and taffeta. These kinds of dresses are made to be admired for hours at a time, for the detailing and structure are flawless and frivolous, all at the same time.   
I have many accessories and head-gear to wear with my precious style and I wear them with confidence, not caring what a silly boy passing by might have to say about them[Brave about some things, but not others.]. For hats, call me old-fashioned and dowdy, but I love to wear bonnets, chapeaus and tricorns to accompany my frilly dresses. I have many ribbons to tie up in my hair whenever Cissy has the time. Not only that, but I have quite a collection of bags in the wardrobe too. All in colours to compliment my clothes (the most common colour being either pink or white) the bags are made out of non-genuine leather but are still of excellent quality, all adorned with the most beautifully crafted bows, beads and frills. Parasols hang on the inside of my wardrobe’s doors for particularly sunny days. They are like a portable shade for a day when it’s too hot to carry on. The parasols are edged with (yet again) lace of all kinds to keep the everyday history lover both cool and beautiful.   
What lady would be complete without jewellery? I love pearls and white gold with diamonds. My mother gave me a pearl choker[Celeste does care about Aika, in her own way - but she shows it through material pleasures rather than affection.] with a diamond in the centre not long before I left. It goes with my outfits perfectly and whenever I wear it I feel like a Hollywood movie star - perhaps Grace Kelly or Audrey Hepburn. For shoes, I like to wear mules and dainty slippers with a tiny bit of a heel, and pretty leather boots that wouldn’t look amiss on an Edwardian princess in Winter. Silver buckles like shining jewels perch on top of these shoes, and each pair of buckles are unique and intricate in their own way.   
After all, the aim of my morning toilet is to always dress formally and elegantly like a little Victorian doll.   
‘Aika, I’ve got your dress,’ came a voice from out in the hall.   
I beamed cheerfully as I realised Cissy was here to give me my favourite clothes. Now, don’t get me wrong, I love all my clothes, but this particular outfit is the outfit of my dreams. I had to travel quite a bit and do a little begging towards my father to posses this particular ensemble. Bought in Paris in a small, hard-to-find tailors, this idea I sketched down on paper captured my heart right away. It is a pale, pretty pink like the colour of strawberry milkshake on a hot day or the exact shade of candy floss at the circus. Being such a fancy dress, it would remind anybody of an opera star in a Georgian drama.  
It was a pet en l’air made of candy pink taffeta, basically a Georgian jacket complete with a heavily-embroidered stomacher and flowing down in soft, small pleats from the back of the neck to the small of the back. Underneath it I wore a pastel, apple green petticoat made of equally lustrous, silver-shot taffeta; row upon row of frills graced the bottom of my skirt, and an overlay of cream, antique Victorian lace (which was salvaged from my Mother’s attic, and apparently belonged to my great-grandmother) swept from the waistband to mid-knee. Usually I would wear a large-brimmed, heavily trimmed hat in golden brown straw and matching ribbon, but today I opted for a chapeau with three large, fluffy plumes.   
Cissy came hurriedly into the room and laid out my outfit on the bed nearby. A mighty good thing too, because I was getting rather self conscious hanging about in my nightgown that way for so long. As fast as she had entered, Cissy exited the exact same way, leaving me to gaze lovingly at my garments. After staring a while at how grand the clothes were, I shoved my door closed for privacy and shrugged off my nightgown onto the floor. I stood in my chemise and bloomers for a moment, still basking in the clothes and remembering the day I bought them. Padding quietly over on the soft, white carpet over to my wardrobe, I pulled a tiered, fluffy petticoat off its hanger and climbed into it. With the petticoat sat around my waist like the wrapper of a cupcake that fell to the ground, I skipped and twirled over to my dress, pretending to be a ballerina as I watched the flouncy, light-weighted fabric float around my body like one of those dresses that belong to the Disney Princesses. Humiliating if anybody saw, but here I’m quite alone. I studied my stays for a moment before choosing the kind that lace up at the front of the bodice, meaning I could dress myself self-sufficiently. Then, I finally joined the hooks and eyes of the pet en l’air and pulled on my three petticoats — the apple green one being the topmost, heavily decorated one — to gain the perfect silhouette.   
Cissy came running back into my room with a face filled with alarm - I thought her face was peculiar and wondered if she was upset with me somehow[Does not know expressions well.], but it turned out she simply wanted to fasten my stockings with a length of ribbon and tie the bow of my chapeau underneath my chin.   
‘Your father says that you’re going to big school soon[Cissy babies her.]. This true, Ai?’ Cissy asked, her face still displaying that same shock from before. I took a deep breath, preparing myself to answer without bursting into tears.   
‘Yes, Cissy. I’ll be going to middle school with the big kids come September…’   
‘But why? Why can’t you just be taught math and English with the private tutor like before?’   
‘I don’t know, Cissy,’ I sighed, feeling melancholy at the mention of school, ‘Dad says I have to go, to get used to life here, but I really don’t want to.’   
Cissy’s face seemed sympathetic but I could acknowledge that deep down she wished she was the one attending middle school. I may sound ungrateful as Cissy never got the opportunity to attend her final years of school before she was forced to become a maid for some rich white family. To be brutally and completely honest, I wish we could swap places[Changes her mind later. Shows her maturing and development.]. I’d much rather cook, clean and babysit for the rest of my days than go to that zoo full of wild animals!


	3. Chapter 3

Aika

July 1958

To make the most of things in Jubilee, I have decided to go on a kind of exploration of the area. Despite living here for a few weeks, I’ve hardly even left the house since arriving. Save for the garden, and occasionally in the surrounding area of forest, I haven’t been anywhere. I’m more of an indoor type of person, you see. Dad keeps nagging me about getting more exercise, but I don’t think it’s too much of a problem. After all, I need to put a little weight on - Cissy tells me I’m far too skinny for my age.   
Only ever seeing the small town area by riding past it in my father’s car that one time, I had to admit that I am a tiny bit curious. Jubilee would be where I will no-doubtedly be spending the rest of my childhood and adolescent years, so why not get excited for the place? From what I saw briefly, Vermont was beautiful.   
I tied my long blonde hair back into braids and added two red silk ribbons for decoration. Looking into the mirror, I smiled back at the reflection I saw. Today was a new day - and I wouldn’t allow myself to feel worried about something so far in the future. Yesterday I had gotten myself into such an anxious state just thinking about school, and the worst thing is, deep down, I know that everything will be just fine[Optimistic, but there is a nagging worry that she has to keep repressing.]. It always is, I told myself as I grabbed a picnic-like bag from my wardrobe, which contrasted nicely with the white Edwardian day dress I was currently sporting. Why do you worry so much? Don’t you know it gives you stomach cramps when you worry so?   
The plaits were loosely braided and came down a little past my waist. I’ve lost track of the amount of times I’ve accidentally ended up losing hair by standing up suddenly when I’ve been unconsciously sat on it. They swung almost whimsically as I made my way out the front door.   
Forest noises here are really sweet in my opinion. I can lie in bed in the early mornings when the sun begins to rise just to listen to the birds sing. I’ll have to purchase a bird book some day so I can identify the birds that roost themselves in the nooks and crannies between my window sill and the roof. Sometimes when I sit really, really still, a little deer comes strolling by with his head held high, fluffy tail aloft to the forest sky. It truly is a magical sight!   
It’s odd… Thinking back, I haven’t seen anybody in the forest besides a few odd squirrels and a deer or two. It is so unlike back when I lived in the outskirts of Paris; everyday people would hustle and bustle by, going about their rapid daily lives in a flurry. The woodlands are gorgeous, so I don’t understand why I never come across any other kids whilst on my walks. Yet it makes a nice change to feel completely and utterly alone by my own doing. [Usually alone and can't help it that she's teased.]  
I stand in my garden, chin sky-wards as I try to spot the red squirrels that play in the pines. Although I can hear them chattering and squabbling amongst one another, I just can’t see them.   
‘Oh!’ I exclaimed as one came scuttling and zig-zagging down the tree trunk. The little rascal leapt like a wildcat into the air and landed on all four paws higher up in the tree where her squirrel companion was waiting. A giggle escaped my lips as they chased each other up and down the bark. If this were a cartoon on the black and white TV, surely little stars would be floating around their heads by now! ‘How cute you are!’   
‘Pretty sweet, right?’ Pierre called out from behind me. His voice was soft and gentle, a quality I admired most about my older brother. He could always appear so tranquil and dulcet.   
‘They’re just adorable,’ I agreed. Seeing as he was dressed so finely, I added, ‘I’m about to go for a walk down in the forest. Would you like to accompany me?’   
He wore a three piece suit from time to time, something which made Buddy snort in scorn — Buddy was more of a casual type of boy: typical slob if you ask me… Reading my books from the earlier days of this century, I often come across the term ‘dandy’. This is the word I could use to describe Pierre. It suited him to a T! Dandy-ism could be to Pierre what historical styles are to me. Fashion is something I love, as trivial as it may sound. Everybody can express their personalities through the clothes they wear, when words and gestures just do not communicate your exact manner in the way you intended. With Pierre, his dressy sense of style reminds me uncannily of a Victorian gentleman out for a stroll on the streets of Paris, or a debonair man about town[Remembrance of the 1920s and 30s, as those were the days when her parents were young, and they incorporate that lifestyle of the time into her upbringing and daily life. She reads a lot of books from that time too, including P.G. Wodehouse.] in the fancy London clubs. He may get embarrassed if I address him as a dandy though, regardless of his foppish ways. Pierre gets bashful so easily, being a complete and utter polar opposite to his older brother.   
‘Well, of course! I’d love to, Ai,’ Pierre beamed, seemingly happy with his only invitation of the month[Pierre is also lonely.]. Since we moved, I can’t help but feel my big brother hardly gets any attention from dad. Buddy gets a lot of dad’s attention seeing as he’s the eldest, but not necessarily in a good way. They mostly bicker.   
I linked my arm into Pierre’s. ‘Let’s go.’ I smiled up at him, Pierre being a good five inches taller than me, ‘I’ve packed a small picnic for us to share.’   
The rich, earthy smell of the forest mixed with sea salt in the air was something I loved about the area we lived in. As we decided our path, the squirrels from before chattered noisily above our heads, presumably unhappy about us making so much fuss. Studying a small, crumpled map that Buddy had drawn out[Buddy still cares enough about Aika to do this for her, without being nagged. He doesn't want her to get lost, as he himself is worried about the unfamiliar surroundings.] earlier for me, I decided it was hopeless to attempt to decipher his careless scrawl. I folded it up even smaller, tucked it into my bag and sighed, glancing both right and left. Which way would take us downtown? Two different paths glared at me, taunting me with their unfamiliarity. One was barren and sandy, appearing as though it had been made by animal rather than by man - the other, whilst being slightly more artificial, looked although it could go on for miles and miles and still get us nowhere… Trust dad to send us to the wilds.   
‘Do you think…’ I pointed to the left, ‘This way?’   
Pierre glanced down at me, his red hair flopping into his eyes. I could tell he didn’t trust my decision, being older than me.   
‘I’m really not sure, Ai. This place is so strange to me.’   
I didn’t blame him.   
‘Well…’ I paused, waiting for something supportive to say rather than something negative, ‘It doesn’t matter if we don’t get to downtown. Really. I just want to go on an exploration to be honest.’   
Pierre snorted incredulously, ‘Lets just blame Buddy if we get lost. His map could have been drawn by a five year old.’   
I giggled in return and took the left without waiting for my brother’s approval. Pierre caught up to me and re-linked our arms. The picnic basket swung against my hips as we walked and I didn’t bother to fix it, being too enthralled by the nature to focus on keeping my bag level. Clusters of red toadstools gathered at the tree’s long roots, reminding me of fairy magic and long summer days as a child. Decaying leaves from the previous Autumn crunched underfoot as we continued to march on our stroll to anywhere and nowhere.   
Pierre’s slender frame kept up a steady pace, leaving only me to weave my way after him, occasionally grabbing onto his arm for support. For what seemed like hours we walked, at peace with our lives and living in the moment as everybody should. It was relaxing. Peaceful… I felt as if this summer would never end,[Links in to the title of the book.] and almost wished it wouldn’t.   
Our walk lasted about half an hour, and as the trees began to reach a clearing, I started to seriously wonder how on earth I was supposed to get to school every morning. It seemed we took the long but scenic route as I could see the path we could have taken didn’t curve round as much. Pierre smiled, but I could tell he was feeling rather smug deep inside. Never mind. I still had fun!   
The clearing was another dusty path that lead to some residential neighbourhood I’d never seen before. Large, typical New England houses towered around us in all their pastel wood glory. Some had huge porches and balconies, whereas others had decorative bells swinging and chiming near the roofs. American flags bellowed and roared in the salty breeze, coloured balloons soared high up in the sky along with the kites of giggling children. Pierre squeezed my hand and I squeezed back. This truly was a beautiful dream.   
Two young men were relaxing out on their porch, Little Richard’s “Tutti Frutti” blaring out at maximum volume. My cheeks flushed as Pierre began to bob up and down to the rhythm of the song, attracting one of the boy’s attention - I spluttered in a fit of the giggles and clamped my hand over my mouth. Pierre burst into a full-on jig, twisting and jiving, his hand still wrapped around my wrist. The boys both grinned sheepishly[They consider them strange outsiders with strange clothes and strange manners.] and turned back to their discussion.   
‘Pierre!’  
‘What? That was fun. I really dig this American rock n’ roll!’   
There was a peculiar intone to his voice, and I was certain that I didn’t understand[Doesn't realise he is being sarcastic - Pierre doesn't like pop music of the time.] the message he wanted to convey.  
I couldn’t help but laugh again, ‘That was embarrassing! If you want to dance, please don’t do it in public!’  
My brother shook his head teasingly and we went on with our walk.   
We passed [Following paragraphs show the nice, friendly side of the American small town before things turn ugly later on.]young women on bikes, their petticoats billowing in the wind with their felted poodle skirts. Greaser boys swaggered around in packs, occasionally tugging on some un-expecting girl’s hair and wrapping their arm around her waist. They reminded me of gangs of wolves somewhat… I hope one won’t try pulling my hair; I don’t know how I’d react if they did.   
Couples held hands, swinging their arms and giving one another goofy, adoring glances every once in a while. A little boy held a red balloon in his petite hand, grinning happily as a clown handed him a second one out of his bouquet of balloons. Another clown on the street corner twisted and manipulated one balloon into the shape of a dog for some applauding girl. Both their faces were coated with layers of deathly white greasepaint. Black crosses covered one clown’s eyes, whereas blue and red circled the others. The pair wore comically big red noses that gave a honking sound when squeezed. Pierre shuddered.   
‘I hate clowns,’ he said with a grimace.   
‘Why?’ I asked, surprised. I thought clowns were awfully funny.   
‘Don’t you think they’re so horribly creepy?’   
‘Not at all! They’re cute.’   
‘You’re an oddball, Aika. A real weirdo if you ask me.’ Pierre smiled, giving me a slight hint he was teasing, though I can never be sure.   
A stall selling ice cream and Victorian lemonade was heaving with hot, thirsty customers. Each person in line had a sunburn from being out in the sun too long. Children in the queue each clutched a balloon gifted from the pair of clowns on the street corner. I would have asked to get one, but I know Pierre would refuse to be within five feet of them - and there was no way I was going anywhere alone[Nervous despite peaceful and happy atmosphere. Dislikes strangers herself and shows suspicion of other people. Over time she grows used to it and lessens her guard, which comes as a shock when the troubles of the town escalate.] in this unfamiliar town, even if it was only a little down the road.   
I hesitated, glancing longingly at the balloons in all colours before Pierre dragged me away, bristling visibly as he snook past the clowns. I snickered under my breath and he whipped around to give me a slight glare.   
‘It’s not funny.’  
‘I know, I know. I’m sorry, big brother.’   
‘If you really want a balloon… then go get one. Unless you’re afraid they might turn rabid and eat you…’ He smirked slightly, reminding me of Buddy. That smirk was a trait both my brothers gained from my father’s side. I had never mastered it.   
That put me off. What had he been reading?!   
‘Hmm, that’s okay. I’d rather not be eaten alive by a clown today, thank you very much,’ I joked, elbowing him gently in the ribcage.   
After stumbling about the neighbourhood for a while in the heat, it became apparent we wouldn’t find downtown without a car. Shame! I’d really wanted to go clothes shopping too; especially for one of those sailor-collar blouses I seen one of the local girls wearing; they remind me of Victorian and Edwardian bathing suits. Unfortunately Pierre looked tired, so I suggested we go back. He suggested I be quiet. Reluctantly, I pressed my lips together.   
‘Hey, Ai. What’s that over there?’ He said after five minutes of walking in silence.   
I glanced over at where Pierre was pointing and narrowed my eyes to see better in the glare of the sun. It was such a bright day that the sun bounced off something metallic and straight into my eyes. I placed a hand above my brow to prevent myself from being blinded. That metallic something was large and seemed to stretch on for miles. Not a soul in sight strayed down that path, so Pierre bravely decided to lead the way to investigate. After all, I did say I wanted to explore, didn’t I? And investigate we shall.   
I skipped, following Pierre’s lead, confident that my big brother would protect me if things turned bad. I wasn’t very trusting for a young girl, despite how naive my family may think me to be. Recently this foreign soil had turned my distrust into apprehension. I hoped it was just a phase.   
As we got closer, it seemed that glint of silver was actually a railroad. I wondered how we hadn’t figured it out in the first place, however we still followed the dusty track like a magpie in search of all that glistens. Abandoned trains lay either side of the track adjacent to the bushes and trees. A rusty sign promising that all trespassers would be persecuted was dotted with changing shadows and bursts of sunshine from the gently swaying foliage. My gut clenched as I urged Pierre to stray no further. He was seemingly feeling awfully mischievous today, and grinned at me, turning back around to race even further down the path.  
‘Pierre, no!’  
‘Oh, Ai-baby… You’re such a worryguts! There’s nobody here, we’ll be just fine!’ He yelled over to me.   
I stopped dead where I was and resisted the urge to cry. I didn’t want to get hurt or in trouble, but at the same time, I didn’t want my brother to be all alone in this unfamiliar place… Catastrophes could strike at any time, even in this quaint corner of the Earth, and I did not want to be anywhere near when they did. Tears threatened to spill, but I blinked them back and followed the leader, walking the old track as if it were a tightrope.   
‘Please come back, Pierre…’   
‘What are you afraid of?’   
Everything. ‘Nothing.’   
‘Good, well come on then!’   
I clutched my straw hat embellished with cherries to my head and sprinted after my brother as fast as I could manage, the salty breeze beating me back and my braids whipping me like knives as I raced. I wanted to beat this fear… I can’t be scared forever can I? Don’t let worry win. Don’t let it beat you down…   
I can be strong. I will be brave. Despite the nerves welling inside, I caught up to my elder brother and wrapped my arms around his waist tightly. He seemed surprised, but hugged me back, calling me a silly little girl. He was three years older than me, but we got along better than anybody else in the whole household. I buried my face into his dinner jacket and breathed in his musky, strong cologne. He could see that I was feeling blue, so pulled me over to the bushes where somebody kind had planted narcissus and daisies. I watched silently and sniffled into my hankie as Pierre gathered together a pretty little bouquet of flowers and handed them to me. I replaced my embroidered handkerchief with the flowers and smelled them. The narcissus had a delicate scent, but the daisies were strongest of all, causing my brother to eventually drift into a sneezing fit. I cracked a genuine smile, forgetting fully about what had made me panic. I could always rely on my brother Pierre to make everything better. 

2

August 1958

Recently I’ve been noticing things. Small things, but still, things… These little somethings force knots to form in my stomach and a lump in my throat. Call me silly, but it’s the trees. They’re beautiful, I know, and there’s nothing like the forests of Vermont. Now that it’s August, I can’t help but feel time flies by so fast that we all get dizzy trying to keep track of it. Am I the only one that can feel my life whizzing by so fast that I’m struggling to keep up on my feet? Every time the date blares out to me on that calender, I could be knocked down by a feather. I’ll be old and dead before I know it… But surely that can’t happen![A display of panic.] I want everything to stay the same, forever and ever.   
The trees; they signify birth, growth, disease and finally death, just like a human does. At the moment, the trees and shrubbery I can see outside my bedroom window are in the midsts of growth and disease. I feel gloomy just thinking about it. That exact shade of pumpkin orange tells me that the summer is nearly over. Just when I thought it would never end. Or maybe that was wishful thinking? If only time could freeze. That would make me so very happy.   
‘Aika?’   
I looked up from the embroidery hoop I was adjusting. A single pink thread trailed from the needle poised in mid air. Was that Cissy just now? There was a period of silence, so I dismissed it as my imagination.   
‘Aika?’ There was the voice again, this time a little louder and much more prominent sounding. Instead of going back to my sewing I trailed out my bedroom and leaned over the banister as far as I could go without falling.   
‘Yes? Did somebody call?’   
‘It’s me, Aika,’ I caught a glimpse of Cissy’s profile from the awkward angle of the staircase. She dropped her eyes from my face and twiddled with her thumbs for a few seconds, before… ‘I don’t want to upset you, but master asked us to go shopping for… school supplies.’   
My heart sank at that. Just thinking about school makes my chest go tight.   
She puffed out her own chest for a second before politely asking for me to come down. My first reaction would have been to run away back into my room and hide under the covers, so I don’t have to face buying things for school. Cissy could tell I was about to be problematic, so came to me instead.   
I feel like such a silly little girl when this happens… I don’t know why, but I want to curl up and hibernate whenever I hear the word “school” or “education” or “friends”. It’s scary.   
The expression on Cissy’s face seemed stern for a fraction of a second before melting into a maternal smile when she saw I was peering her way. She was halfway up the staircase before she spoke to me; ‘I know you’re really scared, baby girl, but I promise you it won’t always be so bad. You’re a good girl. A pretty girl. A clever girl. You can get through this.’ She rested her hands against each of my shoulders and caught her breath. ‘I know it.’   
I appreciated Cissy’s words, but I knew that they were too good to be true. It’s just so frightening, this whole school system. In France I found it hard to make friends, and now we’re in the States, I just know it will be a hundred times harder! Tears burned against my lids, and my hands felt cold against the banister. Gulping back the desire to cry, I said a small and shaky, ‘Thank you, Cissy.’   
She ran her strong hand through my blond curls before turning back to face the bottom of the staircase. ‘Lets go, Ai. If you’re a good girl, I promise you we’ll stop by the ice cream shop before we get back.’   
I grabbed onto her arm as we made our way out the house and into the forest. She was slightly taller than me, and much wider, wearing a neatly pressed, pastel pink maid uniform. The material was a cheap polystyrene which made me wish she could wear much prettier garments. I couldn’t help but imagine her in one of my taffeta dresses and think how beautiful she would look. She wore a peachy, floral perfume that suited her gentle personality perfectly. Perhaps it was the one Father purchased her for her birthday. At first she wouldn’t accept it, believing she was taking an awful liberty in just so happening to have a birthday on the 24th December — but Father wasn’t having it. We were at the downtown area Pierre and I failed to reach the other week, within mere minutes.   
The downtown area of the small town was, of course, also small. Minute, even. I don’t know what I expected, but it certainly wasn’t this: this was so much better. Teenagers, elderly people and young couples strolled about their daily business, the two wide streets containing many stores selling high street and boutique clothes, breaking off at adjacent points and leading on to other streets. Each road was lined with the deep orange autumn trees, miniature orbs circling their trunks for when it gets dark. The sky was painted a deep blue and not a single cloud tainted the atmosphere. Children laughed and played in the street freely without a care or wariness for danger. [Aika thinks this is strange, as she is usually so paranoid, as is displayed in this chapter.]  
Two boys about my age swaggered about the street like they owned it. To my left, a mixed group of teenagers skulked about, each one as mischievous[The youths of Cherry's gang goes from "mischeivious youths" to almost grown-up dangers to society.] looking as the next. The one girl looked about fifteen years-old and had long bleached blond hair, as frizzy and tangled as mine was smoothly curled into waves and ringlets. She glanced at me for a moment with huge eyes as Cissy and I passed, looked away sheepishly, and then back to me again, lingering. Her gaze was almost desperate and longing, and I wondered if it was just my imagination. Somewhat, I felt my cheeks flame.  
Two greaser boys flanked her sides and played with their switchblades, not unlike little children messing around with toy cars. The sight of the blades alarmed me, as did the manner in which they treated the weapons with such ease and carelessness, so I stopped my gawking and dragged Cissy off and into the nearest store. I couldn’t believe they weren’t arrested on the spot, as in France they’d be carted[Culture clash.] off by a gendarme before the sunlight could even bounce off of the blade.   
Cissy seemed surprised - especially seeing as we’d only just arrived - but complied to what I wanted without complaint. I could tell she wanted to explore her old town for memories’ sake, but I wasn’t taking any chances; if those boys had knives, I wanted to be nowhere in their eye line. Who knows when you meet a psychopath? It could be the old man next door for all you know.[Paranoid.]   
In the shoe store, Cissy turned to me in surprise, ‘What was that about, Ai? Did you get a crush on one of those boys?[Irony, because in the end Aika gets a crush on the girl of the gang. But Cissy wouldn't know or understand that.]’ The last sentence she said with a teasing smile.   
I shook my head and bit down on the insides of my cheeks to keep myself from appearing tense. What really happened was that I didn’t want those boys to catch sight of Cissy… She was a black woman, and everybody knows that innocent black people can get attacked on the street without warning, especially in the unpredictable States… I can just peer up at the scar on her cheek to know that; every time it is a blatant reminder. I don’t want Cissy to be hurt or even killed — she means an awful lot to me… and sometimes I wake up with tears in my eyes, after dreams of being without her. Many would think it strange that I can’t imagine life without a servant, but just read the “Jeeves” series by P.G. Wodehouse and you’ll see that Bertie Wooster is a jelly without his inimitable valet, Jeeves. [Relationship compared, as Aika reads and enjoys Wodehouse. Realises that Bertie and Jeeves have a friendship/relationship.]  
‘I just want to look at the shoes. A pair really caught my eye from outside.’   
Cissy followed me around the store as I tried to find a pair I really liked. I had to make it believable.   
‘Oh, these are them,’ I grinned, slipping one onto my right foot. Truth be told, they weren’t my favourite kind of footwear, but I didn’t want Cissy to know I told a lie. She hates liars. [Aika is desperate to please Cissy and be admired by her.]  
My maid glanced at the pair of shoes in my hands and sighed. I could tell by the tone in her voice that she didn’t believe me.   
‘What was the real reason you brought me in here, Ms Aika?’   
‘Well…’ I hesitated slightly, choosing my words carefully. Finally I decided to just come out with it.   
‘Didn’t you see those boys outside with knives! They looked scary, and I didn’t want them to see me as we walked past…’ I had to admit it sounded weak and babyish. Even my voice sounded feeble-minded.   
Cissy beamed widely before bursting out into giggles.   
‘What’s so funny?’ I queried, dismayed.   
‘I’m not laughing at you, Ai! It’s just that you’re so sweet. You shouldn’t worry so much; those boys won’t hurt you!’ [Irony, because they hurt Cissy.]  
‘Really? They had switchblades, though!’   
‘Most of those boys carry them around as part of a gang memorabilia. They don’t actually use them to attack people. Okay, I admit “greasers” have a reputation to be kind of aggressive, but I know for sure they won’t lay a finger on you.’   
‘Are you sure about that?’ I asked doubtfully.  
‘I’m positive. Well, if they do, baby girl, you needn’t worry because I’ll bop them on the nose!’   
I laughed a little at this. Despite giggling, my mind wandered back to that girl squeezed between the two greaser boys. The look in her blue eyes was just so desolate. I wish I could have helped her, but I didn’t know how. Most days, I don’t even know how to say “good morning” to my own family.   
‘Cissy?’   
‘Yeah?’   
‘That girl outside, do you think she is okay?’  
Cissy paused, ‘Well, why wouldn’t she be?’   
‘She just looked so frightened. No wonder with those two awful boys!’   
‘You’re being paranoid now, Aika. I promise you she’s completely fine.’   
I risked a glance at Cissy’s face. ‘I hope so… Lets get out and find the stationary store. I want to get some new drawing pencils and some books.’ I prayed my voice sounded more cheerful than I felt.   
Outside, the greaser gang were still posing like a bunch of clothed Greek statues. I narrowed my eyes slightly as I passed them, keeping my face and body pointed firmly away from them. One of them pointed in our direction and snickered, forcing my heart to pause momentarily. Then, suddenly, so much blood began to pump out of my heart and into my adrenaline-filled veins, that it felt as though it wanted to escape my ribcage. All the blood rushed to my cheeks suddenly. I was so lightheaded that I could have toppled over.   
Just ignore them. Just ignore them.   
The girl gave me another desperate, longing side glance, just like how I imagined a Medieval damsel in distress would look.[Irony, because very soon Aika becomes the Medieval damsel in distress figure, and Cherry has to rescue her in return.] Was she in trouble[But when Aika is in trouble, Cherry is brave and bold enough to go through with the rescue. Aika is meek and afraid.]?   
‘Eh, look ‘ere, boys! The dolly girl is with the old negro hag! What a bunch of freaks!’ One of the boys crowed, elbowing his female captive in the side.   
The other boy laughed whereas the big girl’s face remained phlegmatic. I could see the anger in her eyes though… She was just as infuriated and humiliated as myself and Cissy, or at least I imagined so. In a way, her shoulders were hunched tightly to her sides, and she looked absolutely squashed in between those two rowdy teens.   
I felt Cissy stiffen beside me. Her cocoa cheeks were flushed slightly, but the hurt was no longer evident in her gaze. The sad thing was, she was already used to this kind of abuse from all sorts of people. My frown deepened and my hands subconsciously balled into fists either side of my body.   
‘Hahaha!’   
If taunting wasn’t enough, the terrible, jeering, mocking laughter certainly was. My face flushed beetroot red all over and tears burned the backs of my eyes for the second time today. I wish I could say something to make them stop, I truly do. I wanted to say, “Leave my maid alone you horrible boys!” but something held me back. Something always does.   
‘The fat old lady and her freakishly dressed mistress. Where did you get your duds, the circus?’   
Before I could cry for both Cissy and myself, the girl came to our rescue.   
‘Oi, just you let them alone!’ She barked, coming to life like a marionette.   
Her voice was deep for a girl’s and heavily accented from the area. Her baby blue eyes turned glacial as she snapped at them, and her bleached blond hair was messy and fell into her eyes menacingly, giving her a dangerous, couldn’t-care-less look that was strangely alluring. She was very statuesque and curvy, despite wearing concealing boy’s clothes and a matching leather jacket to fit in with her obnoxious crew. When she spoke, it was evident who the leader really was here. The two boys paused from their bullying, their faces each displaying mixed shock and slight fearfulness…   
She hesitated for a fraction of a second, chewing on her gum and giving each boy a disgusted look, ‘Show a little common decency and let them be.’  
I was a little frightened of the big girl, but who wouldn’t be? The look in her eyes was pure jeopardy to all and sundry. She was not to be messed with. Despite being half scared, half excited, I was completely and utterly in awe. I was totally in her dept.   
My maid visibly relaxed beside me, her shoulders slumping back down. The gratitude was in her face as well as mine. Cissy had told me before that those boys were nothing to be worried about, but at this moment in time, anybody could tell she was intensely relieved it didn’t turn ugly. As was I. Everyone could tell who was in control of the situation.  
‘L-let’s go, Cissy.’ I stammered, grabbing onto her arm and leading our way back towards where we came. Cissy nodded rapidly and followed me closely, keeping her eyes trained icily on the big boys the whole time, placing a protective arm around my body.   
The fury burned inside, but I couldn’t do anything about it. This must just be a daily part of life for Cissy, I thought wistfully. I could feel the big girl’s eyes bore into my back during the funeral march-like escape from where we were currently and the exit to this nightmare. When I turned cautiously back around from the other side of the road, she was still watching me, that expression of dreamy longing[Love at first sight for Cherry.] back on her face.   
Her two companions continued to stay by her side, but there was no need for a psychic to claim there was tension in the air shortly after the incident. The two boys left, leaving her in peaceful solitude. She seemed happier that way - cursing them secretly behind their backs - calling them pig-headed, ignorant bastards[This is an outlet for Aika, as she'd never dare think or say that herself as it's not ladylike. So she imagined that Cherry was the one that said it.]; or at least I imagined so; her lips were moving but I couldn’t hear a thing.   
I was mortified to see her give me a little twitch of the lips from across the road, obviously not disgruntled at my staring. My face morphed into what I thought was a brief smile in return, but just to be sure, I added a little wave and ducked my head in shyness. Her cherry red lips formed another sentence that I couldn’t quite comprehend.   
Little did I know, she was actually wondering aloud what the heck I was wearing. Even if I did understand what she uttered, I know I wouldn’t care at all. She was the one wearing boys clothes! Well, I tell a fib[Style of Aika's narration (saying that she doesn't actually know or mean what she's saying, and that it's in her imagination rather than reality) - and also shows her insecurities.] — I couldn’t actually hear a word. The girl could have been reciting the periodic table for all I knew.  
Eyeballing my maid dismally as she lumbered her way back down the road, I followed her, fully and unpleasantly aware of all the evil eyes boring into my back. Most of them were sent by those greaser boys, but some - oh, how this irks me - some were from passers by, their faces contorted with something entirely unpleasant. Cissy held her head high as if she just didn’t care, but I knew better. When we were out of earshot from the public, I caught fully up to her and wrapped her in an embrace[Aika only hugs Cissy, her mother figure, freely.].   
‘Cissy, I’m so sorry about the way those boys treated you… They… they were wrong,’ I paused, moistening my lips nervously, ‘and evil…’   
Cissy’s eyes danced for a fraction of a second before filling with misery. It was like she couldn’t quite make up her mind which emotion to display. Her full lips wobbled somewhere between a grimace and a grin; but in the end, she decided to keep her bad feelings inside and attempted a wry smile.   
After another painful moment of silence, she began to speak. Cissy was one of those wise women who had seen it all and she is what I aspire to be someday.   
‘We’re not that much different you know, Aika. Black, white… It doesn’t matter. We’re all the same. We’re all humans on this Earth for a brief moment, then we burn out and turn to dust. Really, that makes me wonder why we can’t all be nice to one another, but there you go… Not everyone is nice. What I see when I look at you,’ she hesitated, wondering if it were her place to say it, ‘I don’t see a white girl. Neither do I see your wealth or social status handed down to you by your parents. I see a beautiful girl, both inside and out. Someone who would never judge. A girl who is colour-blind and unprejudiced. And I know you see the same in me… Those boys don’t mean a thing to me. They don’t know me. Sure it hurt, but without even knowing them fully, I can tell they’re real ignorant. Times will change, just you see.’   
My eyes must have appeared wide, for she laughed airily, a little embarrassed about her emotional outpour. ‘And I hope I’m around to see it! Well, I’m sorry to start preachin’ at you, but that’s just what I see.’   
Mouth agape, I wish I could have told her not to apologise, for that was the most lovely, sweet thing I had ever heard. It made me feel stronger somehow. If Cissy[Aika worships Cissy.] could remain in good spirits after all she’d gone through, then so shall I.   
‘Thank you for saying that,’ I whispered, my voice coming out hoarse and mouse-like. There was so much more I could have said. So much more I wanted to say. Cissy understood though, I could see it in her big brown eyes.   
Deciding against going back to Main Street (I was feeling panicky over the events from before), we traipsed our way back home through the forest, not caring at all what father would say when we returned. There was a silence settling between the two of us. It wasn’t quite uncomfortable, but it wasn’t exactly reassuring either.   
‘You’re being awfully quiet.’   
‘E-er,’ I stammered, trying my hardest to shrink back and make myself appear smaller. The back of my skirt skimmed the trees behind me.   
Cissy giggled, her eyes crinkling in genuine amusement. I wondered what was so funny. Was she laughing at my discomfort?   
Her face straightened. ‘Are you worried about something?’   
My legs twined one another as I considered my options. I decided to come out with it. ‘Cissy… Can I tell you something?’   
‘Well, of course!’   
‘I-I’m very worried about school in September. I’ve been thinking about it for a while and… I just know I won’t fit in… I find English hard, especially around people I don’t know, and I’m very scared I’ll fail school.’ When I’d finished, I was dreading that Cissy would start snickering again; surprisingly, she wrapped one large, beefy arm around my shoulders and squeezed. I recoiled at the touch, but appreciated what she was attempting to convey to me.   
‘I understand[They have a relationship of mutual respect.]. I know it’s hard, but don’t worry. You’ll get somewhere, I know it. Even if you find it difficult, everybody knows you’ll do well. You always do because you try your best and get through.’   
Her words made me blush, but somehow, I felt her words to be true. I would try my hardest to get through school, and keep a smile on my face. Cissy’s words had filled me somewhat with a newfound confidence. Maybe I shouldn’t worry so much.  
‘Um, Cissy. If you could wish for anything in the world, what would it be?’   
She hesitated a moment and moistened her lips, deciding exactly what to say. ‘Why, I’d wish for more wishes a’ course!’   
I raised my eyebrows a fraction. ‘Really.’   
‘Okay, what I really, really wished for… was to one day make something of myself. Like your mother, or your father. I want to be a rich old lady living with a cat.’ She tittered, ‘Sounds silly and selfish, but it’s true! I shouldn’t say this, but since I was little, I wanted to be rich and famous when I grew up. That never happened a’ course, but on the bright side, I got to look after such cute little children like yourself and your brothers! If I were rich and famous, I never would have had that opportunity to raise a family. Riches can’t make you happy. It makes you greedy. I’d much rather be happy - and looking after you kids makes me happy. So in a way, I already got my wish!’   
I felt Cissy wasn’t being completely honest with me about the whole wish thing, as she seemingly decided I was too young to hear about black rights, much like everything else that causes discomfort in everyday people… Although I may not be able to read minds, I knew that what she really, really wished for was to be treated as an equal, rather than like the chewing gum on the sole of a white person’s shoe.   
‘It’s lovely that you chose happiness over money. I wish for just the same, Cissy,’ I beamed in reply.   
Clutching my skirt in my hands, we linked arms and waded our way through the clear but ice-cold stream, crunched across the beds of autumn leaves and paraded down the dusty tracks leading into our garden and inside our home[Aika sees her house as something she shares with her maid, rather than her own property. It shows that she sees Cissy as family.].


	4. Chapter 4

Cherry

July 1958

My even-typically cold blue eyes were positively biting enough to cause it to frost over on a summer’s day. They widened, narrowed, then finally darkened. What I was seeing really, really did not please me. My hands balling into fists either side of my body and the lump in my throat were enough to reassure me of that. Heart pounding, adrenaline rushing in the chase, I careened over to the group of boys gathered around the old wooden bridge. From where I was standing, and the way they were knitted so closely together, I no doubtedly could have overlooked what was going on. Fortunately I had seen her cross the road, stupid old-fashioned dress swinging as she bopped her way to the other side. Unfortunately, my gang had seen her first… Her long blond hair and heart-shaped face would cause anybody to double take, but sadly, my boys weren’t exactly girlfriend shopping, you see. They had a bone to pick with girly-O - and boy, she’d be getting it!  
Not today. They’d been real smart. But not today. I could not let this happen… Within mere seconds I was in the heat of the situation.  
‘Hey, guys! Leave her the fuck alone, you hear!’   
In perfect unison, the three boys whipped around to see who their perpetrator was. Ben scoffed when he realised it was just me. With his back turned, I could just about see. There… I squinted into the sunlight and shielded my eyes from the sun. She was too fucking short for anybody on the outside of the circle to see, so it was awful lucky I’d seen her cross the road. If I hadn’t, she’d be a dead girl by now.   
The trembling wreck inside the tight-knit circle sounded as if she was about to start hyperventilating if I hadn’t intervened. Her brown eyes were red-rimmed and wider than saucers. Her skin was bloodless yet blotchy from crying.   
For a while, everything just stopped. My gang watched me warily - each boy as confused as the next. They studied my stony expression with great apprehension and I was just about to let them have it when I was interrupted.  
‘We caught this scrawny little Negro-loving bitch down near our turf. Why so mad, skirt? Don’t you want to have a go?’ One of the three stooges[Cherry calls them "stooges" because she finds them incredibly stupid, and she's not afraid at this point to show it.] guffawed dumbly, scratching his greased-back hair.   
My lower lip trembled. Not because I was going to cry or anything soft like that, but because I was this close to exploding.   
‘She’s real mad with us,’ Ben whispered just audible for me to hear. That was it. Whatever happens next, for the record, is completely not my fault. They provoked me.   
‘Of course I’m fuckin’ mad with you!’ I heard myself roar, no longer in control of my anger. Hanging with these guys, I found myself to grow more and more impulsive. ‘What did she fucking do to you? She’s just a little kid!’  
They continued to stare, so I continued my rant.  
‘A little kid with a maid. She’s done nothing to you. You have no reason to pick on her, she’s innocent. Let her go.’   
They didn’t look like they wanted to stop shoving and pushing her around like a beach ball, so I wrapped my fingers around the metallic cool of my switchblade inside my leather jacket and glowered deeply. ‘Now.’   
‘Why should we? You’re just another stupid girl. Not only that, but you’re posing as a boy! Now, why don’t you just-’  
I didn’t get to hear what Todd was going to suggest. My fist had already swung into his jaw. Everybody stopped and stared as Todd spat blood onto the wood below. Hardly even aware of this, I gave a fruity-sounding laugh as Todd backhanded the blood off of his face. The little girl’s eyes widened even further and her rosy cheeks flushed, either with embarrassment or fear. The other two boys let out a snarl and threw girly-O out the circle, and luckily, into my arms. She risked an anxious glance up into my face just after her body had came slamming into my own, decided I was trustworthy and burrowed into my chest to sob. Girly-O felt stiff as a board, yet warm in my arms[Irony because Aika is now the damsel in distress.]. Glaring ferociously with teeth gritted and wavy strands of dyed hair hanging into my eyes, I pulled the stranger closer as she snivelled into my leather jacket, wrapping my arms around her in a firm embrace, almost like a bear hug. My gang watched me impassively; Todd dabbing the blood off his stubbly chin with his mother’s lacy handkerchief, Ben hawking a fat wad of spit onto the wood and Scottie playing with his blade. All eyes on me.   
‘Are we fucking missing something here?’ One said incredulously. I didn’t know which idiot it was that said it, because frankly, I didn’t care enough to look him in the face.   
‘If you want the fucking-A negro-lover so much, just have her!’ Somebody else yelled. Again, I wasn’t quite sure who - I was too busy seeing red. Girly-O trembled like a leaf.   
‘Why don’t you fuckin’ make out with ‘er while you’re at it! You look like you reeaaaallly want to!’ Another snickered.   
The fool held up his index and middle fingers towards me, creating a V before flicking his tongue between them. The other boys guffawed but my expression remained phlegmatic. Luckily, the girl didn’t see the vulgar gesture, although, I doubted she would know what it meant anyway.   
‘Butch[They know she's gay - not because she told them (she wouldn't trust them enough with that), but because she looks like a lesbian stereotype, and they assumed.]! Butch! Butch! Butch!’ Todd chanted, his voice sounding nasally from when I’d punched him.   
My cheeks didn’t flame like I’d expected them too, but I felt some shame welling up inside. Moving girly-O aside, I rolled my sleeves up and sashayed closer to my “friends”.   
‘Which one of you fuckers wants to die first, hm? Personally, I don’t give a shit, but the decision is all yours.’   
The three goons burst out laughing much to my dismay. Why won’t they ever take me seriously?!  
‘You’re a girl. You can’t do anything.’ Scottie said slowly, as if he were speaking to a young child.   
‘Just you watch.’ I hissed, sounding more confident than I felt.  
Imitating the fights my brothers would have, I strutted until I was inches from Scottie’s face. ‘I guess you’re first then, Scottie-boy.’   
Ben wolf whistled and Todd crowed with infuriating malice.   
‘Ooohoooo! The girl can tough talk! Let’s just see you fight, honey.’   
In the background I could see the unknown girl cower in fear. Was she fearing for me? I hope so. They can beat the shit outta me, but if they so much as lay a finger on an innocent like herself, I’ll be onto them before they can draw a breath.   
‘Just because I’m a female doesn’t mean I can’t kill you.’   
‘Girl’s are weak. Girl’s are pussies. Get back to the kitchen, Cherry.’   
Honest to God I’d had enough at that point. Grabbing the sleek sheen of Scottie’s jacket, I forcefully brought my forehead down onto his own and shoved him outta my face.   
‘Bitch just head-butted me!’ He cried, ‘Fuckin-A! Son of a bitch. Get ‘er!!’   
The two goons flanked his side and grew closer. I wasn’t scared. Nope.   
He held a hand to his temples and rubbed. Whilst his hands were busy, I took the opportunity and arched my foot around and into his crotch. Laughing wildly, the hair in my eyes and my heart dancing like crazy, I took on the other two while the bastard clutched his aching balls and howled in agony that only a boy would feel. Like a bat outta hell (self proclaimed) I narrowly dodged a fist swung in my direction and twisted round, grabbing the outstretched arm and jerked it. Hard. I heard a click. Then a gasp, presumably from Girly-O’s direction. Todd joined his pathetic friend on the bleached wood and into the mixed sounds of pain.   
Two down. One to go. Ben. He was tough. Not as tough as me, though!   
With an animal-like urge and willpower, he grabbed my hair before I could so much as yell out. Thankfully, I still had my hands free. Long dirty nails sunk into the flesh of his upper arms and penetrated. My face a snarl, his a ghostly mask, I brought him down to his knees and kicked him in the teeth, his paws ripped out of my hair. Needless to say, ol’ Ben lost a few pearly whites that day.   
‘Now fuck off.’  
There were grumbles of protest, but as I gave them the most menacing expression I could muster, they fled the scene, leaving girly-O all to myself.   
Her body twitched towards the left as if she was thinking of making a quick getaway, but as I approached, the blond backed away, pressing her back against the bridge with fearful eyes. Alarmed, I knew she thought I was going to hurt her just like those boys did.   
‘I’m not going to hurt you. Chill man!’  
She said nothing, mouth opening and closing like a goldfish’s.   
‘Cat got your tongue?’  
Her expression frantic, petite hands curled up into her heavy skirts, she mumbled something completely inaudible, obviously seeing me as a threat. I had to strain to hear.   
‘Huh? What was that?’  
‘I-I said, thank you for helping me…’   
‘Oh! No need to thank me,’ I paused, striking a pose like Superman, ‘It’s all in a good day’s work, fair maiden!’   
It seemed that my usual sunny disposition had magically reappeared under the watch of this little girl. Funny how girls have that effect on me…  
The girl snorted a giggle, and clasped her hands over her mouth whilst she did it. She seemed kinda adorable… With neat blond waves a little past her waist, she looked like a princess from Medieval times, off to go bare horseback ride into the village to meet her prince, or some other soppy shit. Her brown eyes were huge, magnified by fear, but still beautiful with long, gold-flecked eyelashes. Those soft-looking cheeks were flushed a healthy rose colour, and she possessed a heart-shaped face and fair skin. Girly-O stood around only five foot, giving me a good eight inches above her. She looked weedy too… No wonder those guys thought they could pick on her, the bastards.  
‘You’re such a dope!’ I exclaimed, feigning exasperation, ‘A cute, sweet dope, mind you.’  
Momentarily, her eyes flickered up to meet mine. She dropped her gaze. Shy again.   
I tried a question this time. ‘So, where’d you roll in from then?’   
Again, the goldfish gesture. She took a while answering this simple question[Cherry thinks she is mentally challenged because she doesn't understand her slang language. Aika wouldn't know because she is foreign and disabled.] so I took it that she was rather dim. ‘I come from France, but my dad’s American.’   
‘I thought so. You got an accent.’ Truth be told, I didn’t. But I wanted to appear in the know, so there you go.   
She blushed.   
‘That reminds me, I haven’t asked your name, girly-O. How rude of me!’   
‘I’m Ai-’  
A rock was thrown our way. Luckily it was such a shit aim, nobody got hurt - but “Ai”-whatsit jumped ten feet in the air.  
‘You’re out of the gang, lesbian!’ Came a yell from the right. I ignored them, resisting the urge to throw it back. Harder.   
‘Ai?’ I prompted.   
‘Aika Rowland.’   
My eyes must have goggled, for she looked hurt. ‘That’s an… unusual name. But pretty. Is it French?’  
‘No, not at all,’ Aika giggled, ‘It’s Japanese.’   
My eyebrows were lost to my hair.   
‘Father thought it was edgy, so Aika it was,’ she sighed, crossing her arms across her chest. ‘Mother wanted a traditional French name. Dad wouldn’t buy it though.’ To say she seemed disappointed with her name was like saying boys are stupid.   
Trying to be kind to this shy girl, I asked her what it meant. She seemed confused.   
‘You know, like how all names have meanings. Sarah means “princess” and uh, Ellie means “light.” My name is Cherry, in case you didn’t hear. Like the fucking fruit.’   
She looked embarrassed. Mumbled something under her breath again.  
‘I’m sorry, I didn’t quite catch that.’   
‘… It means “love song”.’ Her face went to beetroot and I chortled.   
Aika Rowland didn’t exactly seem like the party animal kind, but, she did seem cute. Real cute.   
‘Love song, eh? Want me to sing you one of ‘em?’   
I cleared my throat, humiliated, and asked her if she wanted to perhaps get a shake over at The Hop.   
The Hop was a diner just a stones throw away from downtown. This was where all the “cool kids” hung apparently, but all I see is lanky, spotty teenagers sipping milkshakes and smoking tobacco. Need I say it? I have to admit I was the coolest cat around these parts. With the jukebox playing all the latest rock n’ roll hits at full blast, it’s like The Hop and I were meant to be. Mostly I hang there alone just to listen to my idols Buddy Holly and Elvis Presley. Occasionally I’d purchase a strawberry shake or a chocolate banana split, but mostly it’s the music that attracts me to the place.   
The place is decked out with numerous bar stools and booths, couples sat holding hands and drinking out of the same milkshake (yuck!), teenage girls giggling together about boys (how unfortunate) and then there’s me: a regular. 

2 

‘So, are you upset that they kicked you out of the gang?’ Aika asked me quietly with innocent eyes.   
She was currently seated opposite me, her heavy, voluminous skirts and mid-Victorian-styled, dusty purple taffeta dress fanned out across the baby blue of the booth; she looked like somebody that had escaped from the Civil War through means of a time machine. Elvis Presley’s ‘Teddy Bear’ blared out in the background. I bobbed my head to the music and drummed my hands on the table top. His husky voice always gave me the chills; I loved Elvis.   
‘Not really,’ I lied.   
Truth be told, I was fuming. How dare they just kick me out like that?! I was the life and soul of the group. The leader for Christ’s sake! Being in that group was my one chance to show women were just as kick ass as men - and guess what? - I blew it. Blew it double time… They’ll never accept me back with open arms, all because I’m such a fucking... [Cherry was going to refer to herself derrogatarily as a "dyke" because she's feeling bad and paranoid about herself, as well as how others perceive her.]  
On the bright side, Aika Rowland seemed like a real sweet gal.   
‘Are you sure? You seem pretty hurt, Cherry.’   
‘Nah, I ain’t sad. It doesn’t matter. Not to me! Just wait, they’ll be begging for me to come back,’ I snorted, pulling a ridiculous face and rolling my eyes.   
‘Well…’ She hesitated and averted her eyes, ‘I’m glad you’re not sad, Cherry. I feel partly responsible for that…’ She appeared somewhat melancholy and there was a slight tension to her jaw. I could feel her hesitate and clam up with practically every word.  
I chuckled darkly. ‘Who in their right mind would miss them!’   
‘Stupid boys! Stupid boys!’ Aika chanted teasingly[She can be childish, but only because she does love fun.], swinging her legs under the table.   
‘Fuck, yeah! Who needs em?’   
A young and skinny waitress arrived shortly, taking our orders and swiftly departing. A strawberry milkshake for Aika and a cherry coke float for yours truly. I thanked the lady without so much as glancing her way, my eyes were too busy being trained on Aika’s petite form.   
‘It was really cool the way you beat those boys up,’ my new friend piped up, eyes sparkling with the memories. I doubted she’d ever forget that moment. It was pretty badass if I don’t say so myself!   
‘Oh, that. They were weaklings anyway, but don’t tell your mom. She’d have a bird if she knew you were hanging with the likes of me.’  
‘My mum’s in France.’ That melancholy reappeared on her face, ‘But I do wonder what she’d think of a cool girl[Aika senses that Cherry is different in a way (i.e. not as feminine, swears a lot, hangs with boys), but tries to put it politely. In a way she admires her.] like you!’   
How blunt!  
‘Heeeeyy… What’s that supposed to mean?’   
‘Oh, um, sorry. I don’t mean it in a rude way. I-I just-’   
I spluttered, not being able to take this any longer.   
‘You’re so goddamn cute!  
‘Excuse me?’   
‘Oh, Aika! It’s so fucking hilarious how I make you nervous! Just chill, man. I’m not entirely insane.’   
‘Sorry.’  
‘Don’t be sorry.’  
‘Sorry! Oh, um, sorry!’ She flapped.  
‘You just did it again.’  
‘Sorry! Ah, I did it again.’   
My belly was aching by the time the waitress arrived back with our orders. How many times could she say sorry without meaning to?   
The cherry coke float tasted just as good as I remembered. Of course I always chose it because of the similarity to my name, but it sure was delicious. The ice-cold condensation on the glass made my mouth feel extra dry, so I downed half of it before Aika had even stirred the contents of her shake. I picked the long silver spoon from out the depths of the coke and started on the melting vanilla ice cream. After that I dipped a curious finger into Aika’s own beverage. [Overly familiar. Cherry's personality.]  
Aika was taking a tentative slurp of her milkshake before I interrupted her with a question designed to fluster. I couldn’t help it — it was just too funny to watch her flounder.   
‘You’re pretty. Have you ever kissed a boy?[Flirting with her and wanting to know what she thinks about boys.]’   
Her jaw dropped. Almost comically, too.   
‘Well?’  
‘No! Boys are disgusting!’   
‘Good girl. You’re too young for that anyway.’  
‘What about you?’   
‘The last boy I played with, I killed.’   
Her eyes widened briefly before realising what I said was meant in jest.   
I paused for a moment and came up with my usual gag. Mother always used to roar laughing at this one:   
‘I like men… but I couldn’t eat a whole one. Ha![Lying, but as a joke. She knows she's obviously gay, but Aika doesn't.]’   
The small girl opposite almost choked on her drink. Her eyes bulged but she tried her hardest not to laugh.   
‘You should tell my brother that. He’d love it.’   
‘You have a brother? Me too, times two. Ugh, they’re such a pain.’   
Out of the corner of my eye, I could see two teenage boys seating themselves in the booth adjacent to ours. They eyed Aika suspiciously but soon went back to studying the menus. I narrowed my eyes, mentally preparing myself to protect her if those boys were anything like my gang. I’d had enough for one day.   
Little by little, Aika seemed to be getting chattier. Opening up to me. I like this Aika chick, even if she can be… what’s the word? Nutty. She stirred the contents of her glass, caught my staring eyes, bowed her head and looked down and away. Smiled coyly.   
I eyeballed the boys next door one final time before going to take a sip of my coke. In hindsight (the fat lot of good that is) my elbow was unfortunately, in front of my drink. Being the clumsy oaf I am, the half full cup went flying off the table, soaking the seat of my jeans, a puddle collecting on the cracked leather of the booth, and, much to my complete and utter shame, saturating the adjacent boys. One leapt from his ass with his wet arms spread wide and mouth agape. The other sat stunned in his cherry coke lake, his pants soaking through completely. Aika’s mouth emulated a goldfish once again.   
In the hot mess of this pandemonium, I had not a clue what to do or say. Instead, I found myself giving a horrendously loud, horse-like hee-haw and galloped off, leaving the poor girl to sink into humiliation in my wake. In embarrassing situations, laughing it off is the only way to deal with it. Otherwise, I’d just cry… What made it worse was that I left Aika to face the music. Oh boy… If those guys lay a finger on her because of me I swear—   
‘Cherry!’ The bell of the diner chimed as Aika made her way outside. I had to admit, her elegant way of sauntering made me wish I could be graceful like her.   
I inspected her coolly.   
‘Cherry, what happened? I had to pay the bill alone!’  
Averting my eyes, I muttered, ‘I’m sorry.’   
She caught my eye. In that moment, I realised she wasn’t mad at me. The grin on her face said it all. Her grin was found to be contagious and spread to my own face. She covered her mouth and we both burst out giggling until we turned red in the face. I felt the shame leave my body, to be replaced with much pleasanter emotions; humour, relief, relaxation, and love[Honest to her emotions in some cases.].


	5. Chapter 5

Cherry

August 1958

‘Hey…’ I was surprised to see someone who was not Aika Rowland answer the door. Then it hit me. This was her infamous maid! Her pigmentation was dark, with a long-healed pink scar stretching down her profile. I had to almost crouch to talk to her properly, desperately hoping she wouldn’t think I was looking down my nose at her.   
She smiled somewhat awkwardly, and spoke very softly. Just like her mistress. ‘Ah, hello there, miss. Who has miss come to see? I recognise you from somewhere…’   
‘Cherry Knox, ma’am. I’ve come to see Aika.’ I said politely, and thought for a moment, adding, ‘Please.’  
‘Nice to finally meet you face to face.’ Her tone changed somewhat at Aika’s good name, but she still lowered her gaze to the floor and muttered something. I couldn’t quite hear what she’d said, she had said it so quietly; however, it sounded something along the lines of ‘Thank you for earlier’.   
I offered my most charming beam in return and leaned in close. ‘No problemo.’   
The maid blinked rapidly twice and seemingly relaxed. ‘I’ll get Aika for you now.’   
She scurried back into the hall, leaving me to stand dawdling on the balcony’s doorstep and listen to her calling up the grand staircase: ‘Ms Aika? You’ve gotta friend down here!’   
I strained my ears to hear what was said in reply but soon realised it was impossible. The house was immense! The lady was gone for quite a while (I guessed Aika was getting herself dressed), so I invited myself inside and sat in the parlour. Aika’s parlour was a fresh, clean white, with expensive-looking mahogany furnishings. The upholstery was a pale pink silk, and looked slightly odd against the dark wood. Some gardenias in a vase were accompanied by daffodils and daisies. I leaned in to smell them, but before I could get a good whiff, some dark haired boy waltzed in and gave a double take when he spotted me. I, myself, was startled to see him, and flinched slightly. To be polite, I gave him a slight smile which he returned shortly afterwards, but it never quite met his eyes.   
‘Who are you?’ he enquired, not quite impolite, but not at all friendly. His voice was heavily accented. French, one may presume[Although being American and acting like a ruffian, Cherry's narrative style can sound posh and unusual at times (or even fruity) because she reads a lot and takes influence from books. This is because she's a writer.].   
‘Cherry Knox,’ I replied for the second time today, offering my hand in greeting. He looked at it a while and shook my hand gingerly as if he were afraid of sullying himself.   
‘I’m Buddy. Buddy Rowland. I don’t mean to sound rude, but what are you doing in my house?’ Buddy looked confused if not slightly irritated.   
‘I’m here to see your sister, Aika. I hope you don’t mind me coming inside. She’s taking an awfully long time, whatever she’s doing.’   
‘Aika is getting dressed. You just wait here. Don’t touch anything.’ The boy disappeared. His voice had seemed extraordinarily flat.   
What was his deal? I’m not dirty — well, actually…  
Just as he had vanished, his sister arrived in his place. Today, she was wearing an incredibly frilly, lacy, girly, froufrou concoction only a porcelain doll could pull off. But she did. She pulled it off amazingly, perhaps even better than an old, smelly pot doll. The dress was a baby blue with a bustle at the back and three tiny bows at the bodice. Beautiful, high-quality lace graced the hem and the edges of the bustle, and the back of the dress was tied up with pretend corset lacing. A delicate, smaller lace trimmed the bottom of the sleeves, and a minuscule pearl button in the shape of a heart kept the puff of the shoulder in place.   
‘Are you really going to wear those frilly-ass clothes to go exploring in?’ I demanded, my voice rising and falling impatiently as I watched her squirm under my scrutiny.   
I could tell Aika was thinking about apologising - but no matter how cute it is when she does, I’d actually feel real bad if she did. These clothes are a part of her identity from what little I’ve seen. They make her happy, I can understand that. Surprisingly, she said something quite different to what I had in mind:   
‘I can wear what I wish, Cherry. They’re beautiful. I don’t care what you think.’ Her voice was haughty, and when she spoke, I could imagine a mother scolding her toddler daughter.   
‘Besides,’ she added, ‘At least I wear girl clothes.’   
‘What? You don’t like my duds?’   
I was wearing a orange, brown, pale blue and red striped T-shirt with baggy dungarees over the top. The denim was comfy, and the dungarees ended at my mid-thigh, showing off my bronzed, muscular calves; much different to my usual greaser garb, I admit, but it was stiflingly hot today and I couldn’t help that. On my feet I wore white Converse (well, technically, not white. I live on a farm. What do you expect?). My bleached hair was usually wild and bushy, but today I made it my mission to shape up in front of Aika. She made me feel ashamed of my untamed appearance, herself being so prim and proper.   
Aika giggled slightly and I could see her about to break into a fluster.   
I jumped a little as I noticed we weren’t alone in the room. Aika’s maid had joined us, chuckling slightly by the looks of it.   
‘Arguing already, hm?[Cissy doesn't act like an ordinary servant - she is more friendly and open, but others would consider her unprofessional. At first she thought that she'd only act informal with Aika, but soon learned that she should be more open around those that won't be shaken by her behavior - otherwise, she'd make Aika feel like they were doing something wrong or dirty by confiding in one another.]’ she teased, raking a hand through her wig.   
I turned towards the woman and grinned winningly, ‘Oh no, ma’am. We weren’t arguing, just having a debate.’  
‘Isn’t that the same thing?’ Aika puffed[She is already becoming slightly confident with Cherry - theyre a good match.].   
I glared in her direction. She appeared crest-fallen at my gesture. Feeling bad as I was the one who started this whole “debate”, I lowered my gaze to the plush carpet; ‘Alright, you can wear what you like. I have to admit, you do look very pretty, just not very practical to go to the countryside in. Besides, I suppose in those days they had to wear clothes like that for walking, as there was nothing else for ladies to wear. No trousers, anyway.’   
Aika gushed in thanks, directed me back into the hallway and back out to the garden. She waved goodbye to her maid then watched me expectantly. I grabbed her wrist and cheerfully directed her into the forest.   
Typically this forest would give me the chills, so it was annoying that Aika had to live right slap bang in the middle of it. Rumours have it that every midnight since the early 18th century, witches would gather to this forest for their witches sabbath. Now, I may sound superstitious, but I’m not taking any chances. This one time Scottie was strolling in the forest (probably up to no good, mind you), and he heard the cackles of witches echo throughout the trees, ringing in his ears, causing him to run for his life. It was Halloween. I shuddered, remembering the tales my gang had shared about these woods, wondering why the heck I’m still here.   
A bird cawed overhead. I flinched, thinking how much it reassembled a witch’s cackle. I considered telling Aika she lived right in the middle of a haunted forest but decided right against it. She was already such a wimp. 

Seconds felt like minutes, minutes felt like hours, and hours felt like a whole lifetime. I was positive I had aged at least 50 years before we found the exit to this damn green-strewn labyrinth. We came out at a point I had never seen before. Aika studied my face cautiously before declaring we were lost.   
‘Yeah? So what! It’s not my fault you live in the middle of fucking nowhere!’   
Her face went white with dread. I felt immediately guilty and apologised. She continued to stay as white as a sheet, nervously fingering the lace on the sleeve of her dress, eyes bugging almost comically.   
‘Look, I’m sorry for yelling - I’m just a little shaken.’   
Her lower lip gave a tremor. If I hadn’t distracted her by reminding her of the time I spilt coke all over everybody, she probably would have burst into tears. She’s such a kid…   
‘Wait, what’s over there?’ she perked up almost instantly, waving her index finger about at the slight clearing.   
I stepped cautiously closer, wary of how small the gap between the trees were - by the looks of it, foxes or badgers had made this path. Light filtered between the branches of the trees. I squinted, wondering where on earth this path would take us. Aika followed closely behind, her puffy skirts ruffling up against the backs of my knees. Leaning in closer, my eyes followed the direction of the path. I could see that it lead off into a thinner part of the forest and directly into the countryside. The thing is, I couldn’t be sure how long we would have to travel before we hit downtown. I promised Aika downtown, and downtown she shall get.   
‘Why don’t we see where this takes us?’   
Aika looked apprehensive.   
‘It’ll be an adventure! Don’t look so fucking bummed.’   
‘What if we get lost and die here?’ she asked, repeating the sleeve fiddling gesture from before. Obviously she’d never been exploring before.   
‘Don’t be stupid. You’re with me!’   
She gave an indignant snort. I chose to ignore that for her own safety.   
For about another half hour, we trailed down the old country path, simply enjoying nature and the pleasant summer’s day. Butterflies of all types fluttered around us - one of them landing on my head! I had shrieked at the time and yelled at Aika to get it off. I don’t like things flying around my face, you see. Insects are creepy — good thing I was wearing my insect repellent, but seemingly it doesn’t apply to vermin with decorative wings.   
The trees surprisingly began to thicken overhead. I had stupidly expected to end up in the countryside from here as the path had very few trees and endless green fields to the left. No. This isn’t right… Aika clung to my right side, obviously frightened with how lost we were getting ourselves.   
‘We should go back,’ she warned, her tone taut.   
‘No. We can’t.’   
‘… Why is that?’   
‘I promised you we’d find the countryside.’   
‘But… wasn’t that the countryside back there?’ She tilted her head like a curious puppy.   
‘No, mush-for-brains. Not the countryside I’m used to. We’re looking for cornfields, not fucking grass.’   
Looking disheartened, she simply carried on her way, marching past me with the snobbiest air she could muster, and not even glancing back to see if I would follow. But of course I did. Slowly, slowly, the air began to grow dense, the atmosphere serene and peaceful. If there was one thing I would remember about this place, it’s the musky, forest-y smell of decay and fresh rainfall. The light was an odd sallow green, and the air thick and greenhouse-like in nature. All my senses were overstimulated; smell, sight, touch, hearing, even taste. My mouth had an peculiar bitter aftertaste, almost like I could taste the way the woods smelt. Everything.   
The forest thinned out, thickened, then went back to being dense and labyrinth-like in nature. The smell was growing even more pronounced. Something wasn’t right… Sickly sweet. Unbearable. This was no longer the scent of the forest. Just what had we stumbled across?   
My unlikely companion clasped a handkerchief to her nose and mouth, as if she were some Lady Rowland avoiding the plague in the 17th Century[Cherry also has a vibrant, almost romantic imagination like Aika does. Also, she knows about history through books.]. leaving only a little room to see her eyes peeking out over the top.   
The area was desolate, as though the last time humans had inhabited this place had been before the civil war at least. Weeds and wildflowers overgrew the completely deserted burial ground, twisting, twining and manipulating itself around the tombs, taking advantage of the lack of living human counterparts. Many wooden gravestones marked the last time these residents had walked this planet. The latest date was around 1842, the earliest about 1779. Made of both rotting, maggot-ridden wood and brown marble, there had to be around fifteen to twenty gravestones here. Aika slipped her hand into my the crook of my arm at the abandoned, almost melancholy air.   
Some graves were bleached white wood made crudely to be a cross. The wood was so ancient that it started decaying a long, long while ago, perhaps even before the turn of the 20th century. Dead flowers, old and wrinkled, lost of all colour and vital information to identify them by, lay deceased amongst their newborn wildflower friends.   
Other graves that were made of more hard-wearing materials stood stonily amongst the dying graves in both brownish pink and grey. Their surfaces were worn and washed, but you could easily see some were carved to be shaped like a heart or an angel with spread wings. I even found a seraph on one.   
Leaning even closer to read what one of them said, I read it aloud to my friend. ‘In loving memory of Daisy Adams. Hush my dear, be still and slumber: Jolly angels guard your bed. Born 1796 - Died 1801.’ Little daisies carved into the marble encircled the name “Daisy”. Old porcelain dolls were left to decompose along with the flowers. Rodents had eaten their way inside the stuffing and a magpie had stolen the glass eyes, giving it an empty, hollow appearance.   
Aika shuddered and read the next, ‘Tom Adams. Born 1790 - Died 1798. Oh, for boyhood's time of June crowding years into one brief moon. Little Boy Blue has gone away.’   
‘Anabelle Adams. Born 1772 - Died during childbirth, 1796. Sleep on, sweet mother and wife, And take thy rest, God called thee home. He thought it best.’   
For a moment, everything was still. I was overcome by grief for the family that had passed away hundreds of years before I was even born. Aika wrapped her arm around my waist to be comforting. I slung my arm around her shoulders. We just stood that way for a while, soaking up the atmosphere.   
‘Do you think they all died, just like that?’ Aika whispered, sotto voce. She clicked her fingers for emphasis.   
‘What do you mean?’ I enquired, intrigued as to what she was feeling inside to ask such an odd question.   
‘They were very young children… and a mother. How could they just die?’ she sounded close to tears now, probably imagining her own family.  
‘Well, for one… during those times it was very easy to die,’ I stated, matter of fact. ‘Many people died of sicknesses we could just cure today with over-the-counter drugs. I’m guessing that’s why the kids passed on. As for the mother, it says it there, Aika. She died in childbirth. Childbirth was a very difficult procedure back then. Many women died. Sadly this Anabelle was no exception.’   
She gandered up at me a second, and all the sadness was gone from her eyes. That, I was grateful for. I always hate it when people start blubbering.   
‘Why don’t we fetch these graves some fresh flowers. Y’know, to pay our respects…’ I offered.   
Aika seemingly perked up at this suggestion, quick to gather around the wildflowers and pick out the most attractive ones; baby’s breath, white aster, blue fag irises, meadow roses and Jacob’s ladder. She occasionally asked my opinion, and I nodded in agreement, hardly even glancing her way. My mind was elsewhere. I could feel someone was there, watching us amusedly, hiding, waiting…   
As the younger girl was laying flowers on Daisy’s grave, I grabbed her by the shoulder and leaned in close. So close, in fact, that she wrinkled her nose at the smell of cigarette smoke, nail polish and bubble gum on my dungarees.   
‘What?’ she hissed, sensing my discomfort and the urge to be quiet.   
‘I can feel someone watching us,’ I breathed softly. My words were so soft that anybody else would have thought I was mouthing them. The silence circling us was unnerving. ‘I heard a laugh… see, over there?’   
She huddled closer to myself and the gravestone, peering anxiously to where I had ducked my head. Her eyes widened as she heard what I was telling her of.  
‘We’ve got to hide!’ Aika whispered, her tone urgent.   
I could hear the blood pounding in my ears as we ducked behind Daisy’s tomb - so loud in fact - I could be almost certain Aika beside me could hear it along with the rest of New England. Crouching uncomfortably behind Aika (who was cowering on her hands and knees, hiding behind the marble), I waited for a sign of what next. Aika began to tremble — which was when I remembered she didn’t actually know what we were hiding from, probably making matters much, much worse! In Aika’s pretty little head, I could just picture her imagining the worst: we were trapped in a family graveyard, hiding from a gang of angry ghosts who wanted to possess our bodies in vengeance. I almost giggled but then remembered we were in a deadly serious situation.   
‘They’re coming, look,’ I murmured, pointing their way, careful not to attract any attention in our direction.   
The air grew tense as their mumbling was carried through the wind, especially for us. Three teenage boys tromped their way through the undergrowth, having very little care for the plants and wilderness around them. Birds flew off into the sky at the din they were creating, and I wished I could take off with them…   
My friend trembled behind me — I couldn’t see her, but I could just picture how big her eyes were getting at the sight of her tormentors.   
‘That Cherry bitch is really gonna get it,’ one said as I strained my ears to hear. I resisted the urge to click my tongue in annoyance. I was probably the hot topic for days after the event even happened, and how typical that it should be the first thing I hear! They probably couldn’t get me outta their tiny heads.   
‘Tch! We shoulda beaten the shit outta her the first chance we got. I can’t believe she stood up for that little cunt earlier.’   
‘Heh, I know, man! I don’t know what she sees in her; she’s nothing but a fucking negro-loving, frilly bitch!’   
The top row of teeth were quick to find my molars at that statement. I found their false claims hilarious.   
‘Remind me why we started letting girls into our gang again, Scottie?’   
‘Oh I don’t know, dude! She seemed cool at first, but turned into this backstabbing cunt, okay? Don’t go blaming me.’   
When they had finally passed, I could breathe. Count, Cherry. Count to ten.   
One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six. Seven. Eight. Nine… Ten.   
Okay, I can relax now. 

2

‘Thank you very much for taking me out for a walk today, Cherry.’ Aika said solemnly. Her face was a tense mask, paling as soon as she set foot on the front porch. She always seemed her happiest out of the house, except for perhaps the other day where she nearly had to be scraped off the ground with a fish slice.   
To tell the truth, I was sad to see her go. I had enjoyed our time in the woods despite having the living daylights scared out of me at times.   
I knew what I must do about the boys. As much as I feared the outcome, I had to face up to them, otherwise, deal with a lifetime of pain and misery.   
Like my mood, the weather grew dark and tense. With the wind whistling a lament into my ears — or so I thought — I trudged my way to our usual meeting place; my stomach knotted, just knowing how awful the outcome of this confrontation could be. Furious grey clouds clustered overhead, promising me another school of thought on the matter of my gang. The subject had always been a sore spot with me.   
On one hand, I remember all the fun times we’d had in the early spring and summer. Oh, we’d had wild times in our reign, we had… We were unstoppable. Popular, even. I don’t know what went wrong - but I shall always hold those memories close to my heart. At school we were cooler than cool. Both the girls and the boys loved us; and we loved them. Sometimes… I would hate to be called a bully (hey, I stayed out of the warfare, thank you. It was mostly the boys that did the fighting), but we weren’t exactly the kindest on a whole.   
On the other, they were disgusting. Boys! Here is the point where I roll my eyes. Boys, boys, boys! Why do they still exist? My gang were sexist, racist, homophobic, and for some reason, anti-semitic despite knowing that my mother is Jewish.   
‘There she is!’   
My heart danced a polka at this sudden surprise. I wasn’t even fully prepared! This whole journey I had been steeling myself for the final showdown, but to no avail! I whipped around, a rabbit caught in the headlights, hair turning wild and bushy again with the wind and rain.   
‘What do you fuckers want?’ I hissed, my voice coming out thickly.   
‘We want you.’ Scottie jeered. And with that, I was pinned against the brick wall.   
‘Get off me, you fuckin’ jerk!’ I yelled, craning my neck as far away from Scottie as possible. Scottie’s[Suggests he's like the little dog, that can be rabid and annoying at times, like Bartolemew from Jeeves.] breath smelt awful. His teeth were filthy brown and his eyes glinted like black jewels in malice. ‘Let me go NOW!’   
‘Answer us this, Carrie.’   
‘Don’t call me Carrie,’ I said between gritted teeth. ‘Don’t ever call me Carrie if you want to live.’  
‘Aww, sorry, baby,’ Scottie pretended to express remorse, but everyone knew he was mocking me, ‘But listen here, you… do as we say. Got it?’   
I tried to say no but he had already grabbed a hold of the hair on top of my head and forced me to nod. His cronies shrieked with what they thought was oh so funny. As Scottie held onto me firmly, I shrank back and hawked back a huge wad of spit.   
‘Shit! You BITCH!’ as the boy wiped my saliva off his disgusted face, I took advantage of the situation and pushed past his gang. Just as I was about to make a get away, Ben caught hold of my left leg with lightning reflexes and pulled me back to my doom.   
I couldn’t resist the urge to scream in dread as I crashed. It was just too much. I knew they would make a mess of me— and boy, was I right.   
‘What did I do to you?’ I caterwauled, trying my hardest not to sob. ‘We were best friends! Why did you turn on me?’ The blood was matting in the back of my hair as my head was slammed repetitively into the gravel. I was lucky. Some kids got pencils shoved up their noses, and their head slammed down onto the desks at school — but then again, it wasn’t my gang that did that... That was much too hardcore.   
‘Why did you turn on us?’ Todd countered. His face was expressionless, and I wasn’t quite sure if it was that, or the parroting of my question that had infuriated me.   
‘Turn on you?! Turn on you!’ I scoffed. We clearly weren’t getting down to the bottom of this problem, so I decided to change tactic. ‘Look, I’m allowed a few girlfriends, aren’t I? I am a girl, so I want to do girly things sometimes, okay. Unless ya want to have a slumber party with me on my farm? No? Okay.’   
‘Do you think we’re dumb?’   
I bit back my honest reply. ‘Hm.’   
‘Then why did you leave us for that bitch?’   
‘First off, she isn’t called “that bitch”— she has a name. She’s called Aika.’ Oh no. Here I go… ‘And secondly, what’s it to you if I have other friends? She’s no threat to you! Could she beat you in a fight? Really? Huh? I don’t think so! She’s innocent. And so am I. So just let us be.’   
It seemed I had a case of verbal diarrhoea.   
‘You betrayed us by standing up for her. She’s about everything we’re against, remember?’ Todd said gruffly.   
‘Well, no actually. I don’t belong to you fuck-heads, and my opinions are different to yours. I’m my own person and can do what I fucking want.’ Their arguments were starting to irk me.   
Before I could say more, Ben’s fist was in my face. My eyes were bruising almost immediately. I wonder what Aika would think when I saw her next? If there is even a next time… These boys were head cases. I wouldn’t put cold-blooded murder past them. Scottie especially. He has no sense of hurting— just a solid hulk of steel compared with the rest of us. At school, he boasts of his bulging biceps to all the onlooking admirers and enemies.   
‘You’re outta the gang, you hear.’   
‘See if I care!’ I yelled despite the tears threatening to pool in my scrunched-up eyes. ‘You’re just a bunch of deadbeat losers!’   
The wind tore through my hair as I ran back into the day and out of the nightmare. Three silhouettes watched me with eyes like lasers; anger, guilt and betrayal portrayed on all three faces.   
Did I care? Well, what a question. These boys had been a part of my life for four long years. We were like family— perhaps even closer. It all started off with my older brother Danny. He had introduced us, knowing I had very little friends, in the hope of getting me outta his hair. We clicked at once.   
Many girls say you can’t have boys as friends, and in a way, it’s true. For a while it’s all peachy, but something starts to change; they begin to claim ownership over you— all based on the fact that you’re a girl and they’re boys! Apparently we’re inferior, but that’s what I have wanted to change for a long, long time. Being friends with these boys had its ups, but mainly because I made them realise females aren’t as weak and feeble as they first thought. They had believed me… even just a little. Now it’s all ruined. Shit… 

3

‘Hello again!’ Cissy beamed, completely jubilant and cheery despite being so early in the morning. For a moment, her maternal smile faded, soon to be replaced with a look of concern. Her eyes narrowed slightly but I gave her the benefit of the doubt. The rising sun was in her eyes— and she was kinda, um, old…   
‘G’morning, ma’am. I’m here for Aika.’   
‘Ah, yes. I’ll fetch her now.’   
Today I didn’t snoop. I promised myself I’d be good.   
Cissy left and Aika took her place. ‘Hi, Cherry,’ she piped, just as cheerful as her maid.   
I yawned loudly and stretched. ‘I came to see you,’ I just managed to say before yawning again, the yawning curse soon catching onto my friend.   
When her eyes tentatively met mine, she gasped in horror and almost dropped the glass of orange juice she was holding.   
‘You should come in.’ She said, mortified.   
I thanked her and stepped inside— this time, with formal invitation. ‘Nice place you got.’ Of course, I’d already seen it all before. Secretly I hoped her less than friendly brother wouldn’t find me here. He gave me the creeps…   
‘Why, thank you,’ she said without any expression. She’d probably heard it a million times before.   
She paused, ‘Um, come upstairs… if you will.’ Her constant rubbing of her palms on her skirt was worrying. I took note of the way her eyes refused to meet mine more than once. Aika was an oddball.   
I followed her up the grand staircase, marvelling the whole while at how expensive everything seemed. Just how loaded were these folks! Portraits and family photographs hung on every wall leading up the stairs. Not one child in any photo looked entirely happy.   
‘Is this you?’ I asked, jabbing an index finger at a small black and white print of a girl barely out of diapers. The girl in the photo was dressed all in white, reassembling a little dolly. A little angry dolly. I chewed on the insides of my cheeks to stop myself from spluttering out laughing.   
Aika frowned a little. ‘Yes, that is me.’ She blushed. ‘Don’t look at it!’   
Apparently she was embarrassed of her baby pictures... I stored that little fact in the back of my mind, saving for a rainy day.   
‘Aw, don’t be shy. I thought you looked cute!’ I teased, grinning from ear to ear.   
‘You’re such a kidder,’ she said, flushing the darkest shade of scarlet on the spectrum.   
She turned at the top most step to what looked like the longest corridor I’d ever seen. I bet even Mr President doesn’t have a house as big as this! [Her amazement, not fact. She hasn't been in a 'posh' house before. Aika is extremely middle-verging-on-upper class, as her family possesses a lot of money.]  
‘This is my bedroom,’ she said, making the unnecessary introduction, pointing shyly at her slightly ajar door. On the door hung a little sign with the words “Aika’s bedroom”, then something in French I couldn’t comprehend. The whole room reeked of “girl stuff”; perfume, hair spray, roses, glitter, the colour pink… It was all there. Inside, the wallpaper was a pale teal with pink roses, then, on the far side, the wall was completely pastel pink with a small metal crucifix hanging above the bedside. Everything was made of high quality materials; the bed sheets made of Egyptian cotton, the furnishings imported, and the dressing table made of pure wood. The wall held pretty porcelain plates as well as shelves carrying rows upon rows of delicate, ornately-decorated china. I noticed two little white toy bunnies lazing about under her embroidered covers. They had silky pink ribbons tied around their throats, tight enough, that if they were real rabbits, they’d be strangled to death for sure.   
I sit down on the edge of the bed—uninvited of course—creasing the linen and disturbing a bunny in the process. I noticed Aika wince a little, but she let it go quickly, taking a seat opposite me on the white chaise longue.   
‘What happened?’ she asked, placing her fingers to her mouth, as if to bite her nails and suddenly thinking better of it.   
‘What do you mean?’ I said, pretending nothing was wrong. I knew what was wrong. It was written all over my face. I was an open book, easy to read, on a good day.   
Aika raised a speculative eyebrow, ‘You know what I mean, Cherry.’ Her tone suggested I was very dumb.   
I picked a bunny up, peered at it closely, then set it back down in my lap, stroking its fuzzy little head. For a while I kept the silence going before realising we could be here all day with Aika.   
‘Fine,’ I muttered, ‘I got in a fight. Okay?’   
She gasped, sounding like I had just admitted to murder. ‘That’s awful!’   
‘Don’t be such a pussy,’ I said angrily, causing Aika to wrinkle her nose in disgust.   
‘Good girls don’t fight.’ She retorted with a sniff of her nose.   
‘Yeah? Well I’m not good.’ I laughed. Truth be told, I was a little bit miffed with her lack of sympathy. ‘And besides, this fight was your fault.’   
‘Mine?’ She cried, mortified.   
‘Yeah. The guys were mad at me for helping you out the other day. I’m outta the gang for real,’ I said, willing myself not to cry. Strong people cry in private, otherwise others will break down and cry too.   
Her attitude changed. ‘I’m so sorry, Cherry…’ She looked as though she wanted to cry too, but wasn’t quite ready to. ‘It’s all my fault—I should never had—’   
‘Shut up, silly. I’m not upset with you,’ I grinned, suddenly finding an impulse and acting upon it, jumping up onto the bed and bouncing up and down, sending poor bunny flying in the process. ‘And besides! It’s much more fun being with you!’   
I continued to bounce, much to Aika’s amusement or horror (I wasn’t sure which), and performed star jumps and tuck jumps. Her bed was extraordinarily springy, almost like a trampoline. If I did this at home, I’d be murdered on the spot by mom— and that’s not something I’m planning on doing. It’s much more fun to see Aika’s face whenever I do something out of the ordinary.   
She looked as though she wanted to join me if it weren’t for her restrictive clothes. Even if she did, she wouldn’t have got the chance. Before I knew it, I was face-planting the ground like a Kamikaze, my foot tangling in the wires of the bedside lamp and bringing it down with me in the process. I stirred groggily on the floor. This wouldn’t be the first time this has happened (another reason mom would kill me. She’s had enough of taking me to ER). My friend hovered anxiously over me, as if pondering whether to let me be, help me up, or call the emergency services.   
‘Um, are you okay?’ she questioned, finally allowing herself to bite her fingernails.   
I grunted in reply.   
‘D-do you need any help?’   
I grunted again.  
The lamp wire was still wrapped around my leg, but the actual shade which was made of glass, had shattered on the floor. I sat up and speculated the damage done.   
‘Oh my god, I’m so sorry, Ai!’ I yelled.   
‘It’s fine,’ she said quietly, but I could tell she was lying to save from hurting my feelings. ‘I’m just glad it didn’t cut you.’   
‘Yeah, so I won’t bleed all over your beautiful white carpet,’ I joked, still stunned from the fall.  
In a way I supposed I deserved it. The beating I’d received yesterday made my face hurt even more when I hit the ground. But still, it was pretty funny.   
‘No!’ she said, eyes widening. ‘I don’t want you hurt.’   
‘I was just kidding,’ I said, ‘Here, let me help you clear this up. Gosh, I’m such a klutz.’   
Aika started laughing. I stared at her like she had gone stark raving mad, but it did nothing to stop her giggling. Giggles soon turned to hysteria, and her face was beetroot red with tears in her eyes. Half wondering if she was laughing because she was so mad that I had smashed her lamp, I joined in, trying my hardest to pick up the pieces of glass without cutting myself; her laughter was genuine, mine nervous and forced.   
‘So… You’re, um… you’re not mad that you’re out the gang?’ she asked, finally stopping her laughter I feared would never end.   
‘No, I don’t mind. I’d much rather spend time with you.’   
The corners of Aika’s mouth twitched.  
‘Well, that’s sweet of you to say… But you best be going if you don’t want to be yelled at by dad. He gets so angry sometimes.’   
That was enough for me. I whipped out the house as fast as I could, grabbing my jacket on the way out. If Mr Rowland was anything like his eldest son, or worse, then I was a dead girl.


End file.
